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a 


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A  BROKEN 
JOURNEY . 


tt 

1^ 

Books  by  Mary  Gaunt 

DAVE'S  SWEETHEART 
THE  UNCOUNTED  COST 
EVERY  MAN'S  DESIRE 
THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH 
THE  MUMMY  MOVES 
THE  SILENT  ONES 
ALONE  IN  WEST  AFRICA 
A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA 


t  5. 


A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

WANDERINGS   FROM   THE   HOANG-HO   TO   THE 

ISLAND  OF  SAGHALIEN  AND  THE  UPPER 

REACHES   OF   THE   AMUR   RIVER 


BY 

MARY   GAUNT 

AUTHOR  OF  "ALONK  IN  WB8T  AFBICA" 
"A  WOMAN  IN  CHINA,"  BTC. 


LONDON 
T.    WERNER    LAURIE    LTD. 

30  NEW  BRIDGE  ST.,  BLACKFRIARS,  E.C.4 


TO   MY 

SISTER  AND   BROTHERS 

IN    REMEMBRANCE   OF  THE 

DAYS   BEFORE   WE 

WANDERED 


FOREWORD 

I  HAVE  to  thank  my  friend  Mrs  Lang  for  the  drastic 
criticism  which  once  more  has  materially  helped  me 
to  write  this  book.  Other  people  also  have  I  to 
thank,  but  so  great  was  the  kindness  I  received 
everywhere  I  can  only  hope  each  one  will  see  in  this 
book  some  token  of  my  sincere  gratitude. 

Mary  Gaunt. 

Mary  Haven, 
New  Eltham,  Kent. 


'^^ 


CONTENTS 


I.  The  Lure  of  the  Unknown    .  .  .  .         i 

"Come  and  find  me" — Gloomy  prognostications — Mr  Purdom's 
views — "  Keep  your  last  cartridge  for  yourself" — Putting  things  in 
their  proper  perspective — An  interpreter — A  fool  in  any  language — 
A  Babylonish  master  of  transport — The  most  important  member  of 
the  party,  James  Buchanan — "Delay  journey — White  Wolf  in 
Shensi " — A  robber  and  his  pursuers — By  way  of  T'ai  Yuan  Fu 

II.  Truculent  T'ai  Yuan  Fu      .  .  .  •       '5 

The  Pekinese  who  did  not  appreciate  the  Chinaman — The  woman 
who  had  made  a  fatal  mistake — The  gentlemen  who  ran  the  B.A.T. 
— The  French  line  to  T'ai  Yuan  Fu — Fleeing  down  the  line  on  a 
trolly — Cutting  off  queues — T'ai  Yuan  Fu  during  the  revolution 

III.  The  First  Sign  of  Unrest        .  .  .  -31 

The  joys  of  riding  a  pack-mule — The  Flower  Garden — A  litter — The 
Jews  of  Shansi — A  letter  from  Dr  Edwards — White  Wolf  again — Not 
the  act  of  a  friend — The  town  in  the  shape  of  a  turtle — The  lonely 
missionary  woman — The  grace  of  the  little  children 

IV.  A  City  Under  the  Hills        .  .  .  -49 

Two  missionary  systems — Admiration  of  the  Chinaman  for  medical 
and  scholastic  missions — A  Scandinavian  faith  mission — Friendly 
Fen  Chou  Fu — The  building  of  the  wall — The  phcenixes  that  guard 
the  town — A  drawback  to  walls — A  fair  in  a  temple — The  old-world 
wells — A  Christian  wedding — And  a  Christian  wedding  adapted 

V.  "  Miserere  Domine  ! "    .  .  .  .  -75 

"People  will  think  you  a  suffragette!" — A  useful  citizen — Medical 
missions — "The  Crying  in  the  Wilderness" — Backsliders — Pioneers 
— The  daily  clinic — Ingrowing  eyelashes — Chinese  nurses — The 
torture  of  foot-binding — Breaking  the  bone — Cuban  heels  in  flesh — 
The  mincing  walk — Marks  of  suffering — Lectures  to  women  only — 
Dependent  chattels — The  woman  whose  husband  had  sold  her — The 
son  who  had  been  insolent  to  his  father 

vii 


viii  CONTENTS 

CHAPTBX  FAGS 

VI.  By  Mountain  and  River      .  .  .  -93 

Complaint  of  the  muleteers — Into  the  loess — Trusting  a  mule — Diffi- 
culties of  a  mule  litter — "Buchanan  declines" — A  caravan  route — 
The  supercilious  camel — The  provisions  of  the  people — A  wonk  dead 
and  diseased — A  major  operation  at  a  camel  inn — The  packed  villages 
— The  portent  of  the  empty  pack-saddles  —  The  village  of  jfoos — 
Cheap  inns — Yung  Ning  Chou — A  faith  mission — The  wistful 
Scandinavian  missionary — Sui  Te  Chou  shuts  her  gates 


VII.  China's  Sorrow         .  .  .  .  .116 

The  summer  rain — An  inn-yard  in  the  rain — Shelter  in  a  lime-shed — 
An  interested  crowd — And  a  courteous  one — The  news  of  Pai  Lang 
— A  woman's  show — The  views  of  travellers — A  mountain  pass — A 
steep  way — Worth  it  all — One  of  the  world's  great  rivers — "Ex- 
pending too  much  heart  " — The  farthest  point  west — Turning  back 


VIII.  Last  Days  in  China.  .  .  .  .127 

How  to  counteract  failure — Dr  Edwards'  views — Spelled  death — 
Another  Chinese  traveller  with  views  diametrically  opposed — ' '  The 
little  old  woman  on  the  k!ang" — The  Roman  Catholic  Agricultural 
Mission — The  wonderful  temple  at  Tsui  Su — Also  the  rats — Hwailu 
— The  devoted  missionaries — "  The  dear  Lord  will  never  let  it  rain  " 
— The  long  hair  of  the  women — The  last  meeting  of  the  Travellers' 
Club  at  Pao  Ting  Fu — Buying  curios — In  a  house-boat — A  courtly 
little  dog — Spheres  of  influence — The  best  thing  for  China 


IX.  Kharbin  and  Vladivostok  .  .  -147 

A  feeling  of  adventure — The  considerate  soldier — Not  the  wisest  way 
to  arrive — "Got  a  little  place  of  my  own" — Not  a  decent  Chinaman 
in  the  place — Choice  between  Chinese  hung  hu  tzes  and  Russian 
brigands — The  British  consul  at  Kharbin — The  hat  of  Johnny  Walker 
— Provisions  for  a  journey — The  wooded  hills  of  Manchuria — The 
pleasant  rain — The  best  hotel — The  British  fleet  at  Vladivostok — 
The  blood  thirsty  sheep 


X.  One  of  the  World's  Great  Rivers  .  .163 

The  empty  country — Wanton  extravagance — A  lovely  land — Incon- 
venience of  Russian  railway  stations — The  junction  of  the  Amur  and 
the  Ussuri  —  Magnificent  river  steamers  —  Crowded  —  The  John 
Cockerill — Dislike  to  fresh  air — Cheap  travelling — The  stalwart 
women — The  port  of  Nikolayeusk 


CONTENTS  ix 

CHArTKR  FACB 

XL  The  Ends  of  the  Earth     ....     179 

A  frontier  town — Airless  houses — Good  Australian  wine — "They 
steal — And  kill" — Unsafe  Siberian  towns — Salmon  ijd.  each — 
Russian  and  Chinese — Mate  with  the  Glasgow  accent — "Skeeters" 
— Emigrants — The  hospitality  of  the  Russian  police — The  chief  town 
of  Saghalien — The  girls  who  had  learned  English  in  Japan — The 
oldest  carriages  in  the  world — ' '  How  lucky  you  are  to  get  away  from 
Saghalien  ! " 


XII.  Facing  West  .  .  .  .  .  .196 

The  aboriginal  inhabitants — "Not  wives.  Oh  no  !  .  .  .  It  is  just  the 
steamer" — Plucky  colonel's  wife — "There  is  War!"— My  first 
demonstration  against  Germany — "  A  becoming  hat  and  high  boots  1 " 
— Hostile  people — The  Cossack  officer — "They  think — that  Madame 
— is — a — spy!" — "  C'est  gai  a  la  guerre!"  —  Luckless  butterfly 
collector — The  capital  of  the  Amur  Province 


XIII.  The  Upper  Reaches  of  the  Amur  .  .    309 

A  Siberian  town — Difficulties  of  communication — The  Boundary 
Commissioner — Sakalin — The  Chinese  Commissioner  of  Customs — 
Celebrating  the  coming  into  the  war  of  Britain — The  National 
Anthem — The  dangers  of  wealth — A  picnic  with  the  Chinese  Tao  Tai 
— Gorgeous  flowers — The  loss  of  Buchanan — Saving  face — Unfinished 
stories — Luxurious  living — Rain  on  the  Shilka — The  World's  War 


XIV.  Mobilising  in  Eastern  Siberia  .  .    224 

The  real  Siberia — The  exiles — Quagmires  for  roads — The  difficulties  of 
crossing  a  river — "Thieves,  robbers  and  assassins !" — A  night  in  a  rail- 
way station — Russian  washing  arrangements — Running  water — Toilet 
accessories — "  Guard  your  purse,  Madame" — Cheap  travelling 


XV.  On  a  Russian  Military  Train        .  .  .    240 

A  night  in  a  second-class  carriage — "Calm  yourself,  Madame,  calm 
yourself.  A  man  is  coming  with  an  instrument " — My  Cossack  friend 
— The  long  and  sorrowful  road — Democratic  Russia — Abundant  food 
— "An  English  name" — The  lama's  prophecy — Irkutsk — A  Russian 
naval  officer — "The  train  is  full" — The  occupants  of  the  spare  bunk — 
"An  unfortunate  accident" — The  Siberian  professor — The  English 
"zee" — The  pestilential  train — The  bath-houses  at  Cheliabynsk — 
Across  Russia  proper — Petrograd 


X  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAC« 

XVI.  The  Ways  of  the  Finns       ....     261 

Petrograd — What  I  ought  to  have  thought  about — What  I  did  think 
about — The  difficulties  of  a  dog — What  the  privileges  of  a  dog  who 
pays  4s.  a  day  for  his  keep? — The  British  Consulate — The  Swedish 
Consulate — Oxford  tones — Another  Russian  naval  officer — The  men 
of  the  gallant  Gloucester — A  porter's  house  in  Finland — The  Finn 
whose  father  had  been  a  Scotsman — Commandeering  a  train — The 
Baltic  at  Raumo 

XVII.  Captured  by  Germans  ....     280 

English  sailor-men — Three  cruisers  and  a  torpedo  boat — "Germans  1" 
— Treachery — **  What  are  you  doing  with  all  those  fine  young  men  on 
board?" — The  taking  of  the  Englishmen — The  drugging  of  Buchanan 
— Swedish  Customs — Landing  at  Gefle — A  Swedish  dog — Crossing  to 
Norway — "Cannot  be  allowed  to  skip  about  the  streets" — A  clean 
bill  of  health — Bei^gen — "  Their  use  is  negligible  !" — Home  at  last ! 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Wedding  Party,  Fen  Chou  Fu 


Frontispiece 

TO  PACE  PAGK 


Old  Cannon  on  Wall,  T'ai  Yuan  Fu ;  Tsai  Chih  Fu  beside  it 

Mission  Compound,  Pao  Ting  Fu ;  with  Dr  Lewis's  little 

Son  and  Servant        ...... 

Tree  at  East  Gate,  T'ai  Yuan  Fu      .         .         .         . 
Author's  Litter 

Gateway  of  Everlasting  Peace  ..... 
Old  House  inhabited  by  the  China  Inland  Mission  . 

Tombs  outside  Ki  Hsien 

The  First  Signs  of  Unrest         ..... 

Coroner's  Court        ....... 

The  Walls  of  Fen  Chou  Fu,  the  North  Gate  and  Northern 
Suburb     

Inside  the  North  Gate,  Fen  Chou  Fu        .         .         . 
Rusty  Old- World  Cannon  and  the  Master  of  Transport 

The  Phoenixes  on  the  Wall  at  Fen  Chou  Fu 
Bronze  Base  of  Phcenix,  Fen  Chou  Fu      .         .         . 

Tree  full  of  Birds'  Nests  in  Eastern  Suburb,  Fen  Chou  Fu 
Temple  from  the  Wall,  Fen  Chou  Fu        .         .         . 

Heaps  of  Stones  on  the  Walls,  Fen  Chou  Fu    . 
Rubbish  Heaps  of  Centuries  outside  Fen  Chou  Fu  . 

One  of  the  tallest  Pagodas  in  China 

Nearer  View  of  tall  Pagoda  at  Fen  Chou  Fu     . 

Missionary's  Teacher  and  Priest       .... 
Ladies  of  Easy  Virtue  in  the  Taoist  Temple     . 

Author's  Litter  near  Pagoda  on  the  Wayside    . 
Farmer  ploughing,  and  small  Pagoda,  Fen  Chou  Fu 

Wells  in  Fen  Chou  Fu 

Bricklayers'  Labourers 

Literary  Tower  on  Wall,  Fen  Chou  Fu      .         .         . 
Ruins  of  the  Yamen,  Fen  Chou  Fu  . 

xi 


9 
i6 

17 

24 

25 
32 
33 
40 

41 
48 

49 
56 

57 


Xll 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


Bringing  Home  a  Coffin   ..... 
Engaged  to  be  Married    ..... 

A  Patient  at  the  Clinic 

Author's   Caravan   passing   Wayside    Restaurant   in 
Mountains 

A  Wayside  Refreshment  Booth  in  the  Loess  Country 
Inn-Yard 

^Vu  Ch'eng,  a  Village  of  Yaos  .... 
Outside  a  Camel  Inn 

Village  Street 

Litter  with  Pack-Saddle  across  it  in  Inn-Yard    . 

Village  Street 

Pack-Saddles  outside  an  Inn    .... 

The  Cliffs  after  the  Loess         .... 
Loads  of  Straw  Hats 

Bridge  outside  Yung  Ning  Chou 
Author's  Caravan  crossing  a  River    . 

East  Gate  of  Yung  Ning  Chou 

Looking  up  the  Main  Street,  Yung  Ning  Chou 

Gate  of  a  Town  near  to  Liu  Lin  Chen 
Archway  with  Theatrical  Notices,  Liu  Lin  Chen 

At  the  Top  of  the  Pass 

Through  the  Mountains  to  the  Yellow  River    . 

First  Sight  of  Hoang-Ho 

The  Hoang-Ho  at  Chun  Pu     . 

Avenue  of  Trees  along  the  Wayside . 
Strawboard  drying 

Temple  at  Tsui  Su 

Twisted  Trees  in  Temple  Ground 

Bronze  Figure  at  Entrance  to  Temple 
Entrance  to  Temple,  Tsui  Su  . 

Gateway  to  the  Temple  of  the  Hot  Springs 
Mission  Garden  at  Hwailu        .... 


TO   FACE   I'AGE 
\ 


the 


A    BROKEN   JOURNEY 

CHAPTER  I 

THE   LURE   OF  THE   UNKNOWN 

Each  time  I  begin  a  book  of  travel  I  search  for  the  reasons 
that  sent  me  awandering.  FooHshness,  for  I  ought  to  know 
by  this  time  the  wander  fever  was  born  in  my  blood ;  it  is 
in  the  blood  of  my  sister  and  brothers.  We  were  brought 
up  in  an  inland  town  in  Victoria,  Australia,  and  the  years 
have  seen  us  roaming  all  over  the  world.  I  do  not  think 
any  of  us  has  been  nearer  the  North  Pole  than  Petro- 
paulovski,  or  to  the  South  Pole  than  Cape  Horn — children 
of  a  sub-tropical  clime,  we  do  not  like  the  cold — but  in  many 
countries  in  between  have  we  wandered.  The  sailors  by 
virtue  of  their  profession  have  had  the  greater  opportunities, 
but  the  other  five  have  made  a  very  good  second  best  of  it, 
and  always  there  has  been  among  us  a  very  understanding 
sjmipathy  with  the  desire  that  is  planted  in  each  and  all 
to  visit  the  remote  comers  of  the  earth. 

Anybody  can  go  on  the  beaten  track.  It  only  requires 
money  to  take  a  railway  or  steamer  ticket,  and  though  we 
by  no  means  despise  comfort — indeed,  because  we  know 
something  of  the  difficulties  that  beset  the  traveller  beyond 
the  bounds  of  civilisation,  we  appreciate  it  the  more  highly — 
still  there  is  something  else  beyond  comfort  in  life.  Wherein 
lies  the  call  of  the  Unkno\\ii  ?  To  have  done  something 
that  no  one   else   has   done — or   only   accomplished   with 

A  I 


2  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

difficulty  ?  Where  lies  the  charm  ?  I  cannot  put  it  into 
words — only  it  is  there,  the  "  something  calling — beyond 
the  mountains,"  the  "  Come  and  find  me "  of  Kipling. 
That  voice  every  one  of  the  Gaunts  hears,  and  we  all 
sympathise  when  another  one  goes. 

And  that  voice  I  heard  loudly  in  China. 

"  Come  and  find  me  !     Come  and  find  me  !  " 

The  livelong  day  I  heard  it,  and  again  and  again  and  yet 
again  I  tried  to  stifle  it,  for  you  who  have  read  my  Woman 
in  China  will  know  that  travelling  there  leaves  much  to  be 
desired.  To  say  it  is  uncomfortable  is  to  put  it  in  the 
mildest  terms.  Everything  that  I  particularly  disHke  in  life 
have  I  met  travelling  in  China  ;  everything  that  repells  me ; 
and  yet,  having  unwisely  invested  $10  (about  £l)  in  an  atlas 
of  China,  the  voice  began  to  ring  in  my  ears  day  and  night. 

I  was  living  in  an  American  Presbyterian  mission  station 
in  the  western  suburb  of  the  walled  town  of  Pao  Ting  Fu, 
just  beyond  European  influence,  the  influence  of  the  Treaty 
Ports  and  the  Legation  quarter  of  Peking.  I  wanted  to  see 
something  of  the  real  China,  to  get  material  for  a  novel — 
not  a  novel  concerning  the  Chinese ;  for  I  have  observed  that 
no  successful  novel  in  English  deals  with  anybody  but  the 
British  or  the  Americans ;  the  other  peoples  come  in  as 
subordinates — and  the  local  colour  was  best  got  on  the  spot. 
There  was  plenty  in  Pao  Ting  Fu,  goodness  knows.  It  had 
suffered  severely  in  the  Boxer  trouble.  In  the  northern 
subm-b,  just  about  a  mile  from  where  we  lived,  was  a  tomb, 
or  monument  rather,  that  had  been  raised  to  the  mission- 
aries massacred  then.  They  have  made  a  garden  plot 
where  those  burning  houses  stood,  they  have  planted  trees 
and  flowers,  and  set  up  memorial  tablets  in  the  Chinese 
style,  and  the  mission  has  moved  to  the  western  suburb, 
just  under  the  frowning  walls  of  the  town,  and — is  doubly 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  3 

strong.  A  God-given  fervour,  say  the  missionaries,  sends 
them  forth.  Who  am  I  to  judge  ?  But  I  see  that  same 
desire  to  go  forth  in  myself,  that  same  disregard  of  danger, 
when  it  is  not  immediate — I  know  I  should  be  horribly 
scared  if  it  materialised — and  I  cannot  claim  for  myself 
it  is  Gk)d-given,  save  perhaps  that  all  our  desires  are  God- 
given. 

So  there  in  the  comfortable  mission  station  I  studied  the 
local  colour,  corrected  my  last  book  of  China,  and  instead 
of  planning  the  novel,  looked  daily  at  the  atlas  of  China, 
till  there  grew  up  in  me  a  desire  to  cross  Asia,  not  by  train 
to  the  north  as  I  had  already  done,  as  thousands  of  people 
used  to  do  every  year,  but  by  the  caravan  route,  across  Shensi 
and  Kansu  and  Sinkiang  to  Andijan  in  Asiatic  Russia,  the 
terminus  of  the  Caspian  Railway.  Thousands  and  thousands 
of  people  go  slowly  along  that  way  too,  but  the  majority 
do  not  go  all  the  way,  and  they  do  not  belong  to  the  class 
or  nation  whose  comings  and  goings  are  recorded.  In  fact, 
you  may  count  on  the  fingers  of  one  hand  the  people  who 
know  anything  of  that  road.  The  missionaries,  particularly 
the  womenkind,  did  not  take  very  cheerful  views  about  it. 

"  If  I  wanted  to  die,"  said  one  woman,  meeting  me  as  I 
was  going  round  the  compound  one  day  in  the  early  spring 
of  1914,  "  I  would  choose  some  easier  way." 

But  the  doctor  there  was  keenly  interested.  He  would  have 
liked  to  have  gone  himself,  but  his  duty  kept  him  alongside 
his  patients  and  his  hospital  in  Pao  Ting  Fu,  and  though  he 
pulled  himself  up  every  now  and  then,  remembering  I  was 
only  a  woman  and  probably  couldn't  do  it,  he  could  not  but 
take  as  great  an  interest  in  that  map  and  ways  and  means 
as  I  did  myself.  Then  there  was  Mr  Long,  a  professor  at 
the  big  Chinese  college  in  the  northern  suburb — he  was 
young  and  enthusiastic  and  as  interested  as   Dr  Lewis. 


4  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

He  too  knew  something  about  travel  in  unknown  China, 
for  he  had  been  one  of  the  band  of  white  men  who  had  made 
their  way  over  the  mountains  of  Shansi  and  Shensi  in  the 
depths  of  winter  to  go  to  the  rescue  of  the  missionaries  in 
Sui  Te  Chou  and  all  the  little  tovms  down  to  Hsi  An  Fu 
at  the  time  of  the  Revolution.  Yes,  he  knew  something  of 
the  difficulties  of  Chinese  travel,  and  he  thought  I  could  do  it. 

"  The  only  danger  would  be  robbers,  and — well,  you  know, 
there  mightn't  be  robbers." 

But  Peking — the  Peking  of  the  Legations — that,  I  knew, 
held  different  views.  I  wrote  to  an  influential  man  who  had 
been  in  China  over  ten  years,  who  spoke  the  language  well, 
and  he  was  against  it. 

"  I  was  very  much  interested  "  (wrote  he)  "  to  read  of 
your  intention  to  do  that  trek  across  country.  You  ask 
my  opinion  about  it,  but  I  can  only  give  you  the  same 
advice  that  Punch  gave  many  years  ago,  and  that  is,  don't. 
You  must  realise  that  the  travelling  will  be  absolutely  aviivl 
and  the  cost  is  very  great  indeed.  You  have  not  yet  for- 
gotten your  trip  to  Jehol,  I  hope,  and  the  roughness  of  the 
road.  The  trip  you  contemplate  will  make  the  little  journey 
to  Jehol  look  like  a  Sunday  morning  walk  in  Hyde  Park, 
particularly  as  regards  travelling  comfort,  to  say  nothing 
about  the  danger  of  the  journey  as  regards  hostile  tribes 
on  the  southern  and  western  borders  of  Tibet.  You  will  be 
passing  near  the  Lolo  country,  and  I  can  assure  you  that  the 
Lolos  are  not  a  set  of  gentlemen  within  the  meaning  of  the 
Act.  Tliey  are  distinctly  hostile  to  foreigners,  and  many 
murders  have  taken  place  in  their  country  that  have  not 
been  published  because  of  the  inability  of  the  Chinese  troops 
to  stand  up  against  these  people.  WTiat  the  peoples  are 
like  farther  north  I  do  not  know,  but  I  understand  the 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  5 

Tibetans  are  not  particularly  trustworthy,  and  it  will  follow 
that  the  people  living  on  their  borders  will  inherit  a  good 
many  of  their  vices  and  few  of  their  virtues. 

"  If  you  have  really  made  up  your  mind  to  go,  however, 
just  let  me  know,  and  I  will  endeavour  to  hunt  up  all  the 
information  that  it  is  possible  to  collect  as  to  the  best  route 
to  take,  etc.,  though  I  repeat  I  would  not  advise  the  journey, 
and  the  (ieogi-aphical  Society  can  go  to  the  deuce." 

This  not  because  he  despised  the  Geographical  Society 
by  any  means,  but  because  I  had  advanced  as  one  reason  for 
going  across  Asia  the  desire  to  win  my  spurs  so  and  be  an 
acceptable  member. 

"  My  dear,"  ^\Tote  a  woman,  "  think  of  that  poor  young 
Brooke.  The  Tibetans  cut  his  throat  %vith  a  sharp  stone, 
which  is  a  pleasant  little  way  they  have." 

Now  the  man's  opinion  was  worth  having,  but  the  woman's 
is  a  specimen  of  the  loose  way  people  are  apt  to  reason — I 
do  it  myself — ^^vhen  they  deal  with  the  unkno\Mi.  The 
"  poor  young  Brooke "  never  went  near  Tibet,  and  was 
murdered  about  a  thousand  miles  distant  from  the  route  I 
intended  to  take.  It  was  something  as  if  a  traveller  bound 
to  the  Hebrides  was  warned  against  dangers  to  be  met  upon 
the  Rhone. 

One  man  who  had  travelled  extensively  in  Mongolia  was 
strongly  against  the  journey,  but  declared  that  "  Purdom 
knew  a  great  deal  more  about  travelling  in  China  "  than  he 
did,  and  if  "  Purdom  "  said  I  might  go — ^well  then,  I  might. 
Mr  Purdom  and  Mr  Reginald  Farrer  were  going  west  to  the 
borders  of  Tibet  botanising,  and  one  night  I  dined  with 
them,  and  Mr  Purdom  was  optimistic  and  declared  if  I  was 
prepared  for  discomfort  and  perhaps  hardship  he  thought 
I  might  go. 


6  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

So  it  was  decided,  and  thereupon  those  who  knew  took 
me  in  hand  and  gave  me  all  advice  about  travelling  in  China, 
how  to  minimise  discomfort,  what  to  take  and  what  to  leave 
behind.  One  thing  they  were  all  agreed  upon.  The  Chinese, 
as  a  rule,  are  the  most  peaceable  people  upon  earth,  the  only 
thing  I  had  to  fear  was  a  chance  band  of  robbers,  and  if  I 
fell  into  their  hands — well,  it  would  probably  be  finish. 

"  The  Chinese  are  fiendishly  cruel,"  said  my  friend  of 
Mongolian  travel ;  "  keep  your  last  cartridge  for  yourself." 

I  intimated  that  a  pistol  was  quite  beyond  me,  that  that 
way  of  going  out  did  not  appeal  to  me,  and  anyhow  I'd  be 
sure  to  bungle  it. 

"  Then  have  something  made  up  at  the  chemist's  and  keep 
it  always  on  your  person.  You  do  not  know  how  desperately 
you  may  need  it." 

I  may  say  here  that  these  remarks  made  no  impression 
upon  me  whatever.  I  suppose  in  most  of  us  the  feeling  is 
strong  that  nothing  bad  could  possibly  happen.  It  happens 
to  other  people,  we  know,  but  to  us — impossible  !  I  have 
often  wondered  how  near  I  could  get  to  danger  without 
feeling  that  it  really  threatened — pretty  close,  I  suspect. 
It  is  probably  a  matter  of  experience.  I  cannot  cross  a 
London  road  with  equanimity — but  then  twice  have  I  been 
knocked  down  and  rather  badly  hurt — but  I  gaily  essayed 
to  cross  Asia  by  way  of  China,  and  would  quite  certainly 
as  gaily  try  again  did  I  get  the  chance.  Only  next  time 
I  propose  to  take  a  good  cook. 

To  some,  of  course,  the  unknown  is  always  full  of  danger. 

The  folks  who  walked  about  Peking  without  a  qualm 
warned  me  I  would  die  of  indigestion,  I  would  be  unable 
to  drink  the  water,  the  filth  would  be  unspeakable,  hydro- 
phobia raged,  and  "  when  you  are  bitten,  promptly  cut 
deep  into  the  place  and  insert  a  chloride  of  mercury  tabloid." 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  7 

That  last  warning  made  me  laugh.  It  reminded  me  of  the 
time  when  as  a  little  girl,  living  in  a  country  where  deadly 
snakes  swarmed — my  eldest  brother  killed  sixty  in  a  week, 
I  remember,  in  oiu*  garden — I  used  to  think  it  would  be 
extremely  dangerous  to  go  to  Europe  because  there  were 
there  mad  dogs,  things  we  never  had  in  Australia !  I 
think  it  was  the  eference  to  hydrophobia  and  the  chloride 
of  mercury  tabloid  helped  me  to  put  things  in  their  proper 
prospective  and  made  me  realise  that  I  was  setting  out  on 
a  difficult  journey  with  a  possible  danger  of  robbers ;  but 
a  possible  danger  is  the  thing  we  risk  every  day  we  travel 
in  a  railway  train  or  on  an  electric  tramcar.  I  am  always 
ready  for  possible  risks,  it  is  when  they  become  probable 
I  bar  them,  so  I  set  about  my  preparations  with  a  quiet 
mind. 

A  servant.  I  decided  I  must  have  a  tall  servant  and 
strong,  because  so  often  in  China  I  found  I  had  to  be  lifted, 
and  I  had  suffered  from  having  too  small  a  man  on  my 
former  journeys.  The  missionaries  provided  me  with  a 
new  convert  of  theirs,  a  tall  strapping  Northern  Chinaman, 
who  was  a  mason  by  trade.  Tsai  Chih  Fu,  we  called  him — 
that  is  to  say,  he  came  of  the  Tsai  family ;  and  the  Chih  Fu 
— I'm  by  no  means  sure  that  I  spell  it  right — meant  a 
"  master  workman."  He  belonged  to  a  large  firm  of  masons, 
but  as  he  had  never  made  a  dollar  a  day  at  his  trade,  my 
offer  of  that  sum  put  him  at  my  service,  ready  to  go  out  into 
the  unkno\ATi.  He  was  a  fine-looking  man,  dignified  and 
courteous,  and  I  had  and  have  the  greatest  respect  for  him. 
He  could  not  read  or  write,  of  course.  Now  a  man  who 
cannot  read  or  write  here  in  the  West  we  look  upon  with 
contempt,  but  it  would  be  impossible  to  look  upon  Tsai 
Chih  Fu  with  contempt.  He  was  a  responsible  person,  a 
man  who  would  count  in  any  company.    He  belonged  to 


8  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

another  era  and  another  civilisation,  but  he  was  a  man  of 
weight.  A  master  of  transport  in  Babylon  probably  closely 
resembled  my  servant  Tsai  Chih  Fu. 

My  interpreter,  Wang  Hsien — that  is,  Mr  Wang — was  of 
quite  a  different  order.  He  was  little  and  slight,  with  long 
artistic  hands,  of  the  incapable  artistic  order,  and  he  was  a 
fool  in  any  language ;  but  good  interpreters  are  exceedingly 
difficult  to  get.  He  used  to  come  and  see  me  every  day 
for  a  fortnight  before  we  started,  and  I  must  say  my  heart 
sank  when  the  simplest  remark,  probably  a  greeting,  or  a 
statement  as  to  the  weather,  was  met  with  a  "  Repeat, 
please."  I  found  this  was  the  invariable  formula  and  it 
was  not  conducive  to  brisk  conversation.  On  my  way 
through  the  country  things  were  apt  to  vanish  before  I 
had  made  Mr  Wang  understand  that  I  was  asking,  and  was 
really  in  search  of,  information.  He  had  his  black  hair  cut 
short  in  the  progressive  foreign  fashion  (it  looked  as  if  he 
had  had  a  basin  put  on  his  head — a  good  large  one — and  the 
hair  snipped  off  round),  and  he  wore  a  long  blue  cotton  gown 
buttoned  to  his  feet.  Always  he  spoke  with  a  silly  giggle. 
Could  I  have  chosen,  which  I  could  not,  he  would  have  been 
about  the  very  last  man  I  should  have  taken  on  a  strenuous 
journey  as  guide,  philosopher  and  friend. 

And  there  was  another  member  of  the  party,  a  most 
impoitant  member,  without  whom  I  should  not  have 
dreamt  of  stirring — my  little  black  and  white  k'ang  dog, 
James  Buchanan,  who  loved  me  as  no  one  in  the  world  has 
ever  loved  me,  thought  everything  I  did  was  perfect,  and 
declared  he  was  willing  to  go  with  me  to  the  ends  of  the 
earth. 

So  I  began  my  preparations.  One  thing  only  was  clear, 
everyone  was  agreed  upon  it,  all  my  goods  must  be  packed 
in  canvas  bags,  because  it  is  impossible  to  travel  by  mule. 


OLD  CANNON   ON  WALL  T'AI  YUAN   FU.      TSAI  CHIH   FU   BESIDE  IT. 


MISSION  COMPOUND  PAO  TING   FU   WITH    UR.   LEWIS'S 
LI  TTLE  SON   AND  SERVANT. 


Sff  pOg^    2. 


TREE  AT  KAST  GATE  T'AI   YUAN   FU. 


AUTHORS   LI  ITER. 
See  page   34. 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN  9 

or  cart,  or  litter  with  one's  clothes  in  ordinary  boxes.  And 
I  had,  through  the  kindness  of  Messrs  Forbes  &  Company, 
to  make  arrangements  with  Chinese  bankers,  who  have 
probably  been  making  the  same  arrangements  since  before 
the  dawn  of  history,  to  get  money  along  the  proposed  route. 
These  things  I  managed  satisfactorily ;  it  was  over  the  stores 
that,  as  usual,  I  made  mistakes.  The  fact  of  the  matter  is 
that  the  experience  gained  in  one  country  is  not  always 
useful  for  the  next.  When  first  I  travelled  in  Africa  I 
took  many  "  chop  "  boxes  that  were  weighty  and  expensive 
of  transport,  and  contained  much  tinned  meat  that  in  a 
warm,  moist  climate  I  did  not  want.  I  found  I  could  live 
quite  happily  on  biscuits  and  fruit  and  eggs,  with  such 
relishes  as  anchovy  paste  or  a  few  Bologna  sausages  for  a 
change.  My  expensive  tinned  foods  I  bestowed  upon  my 
servants  and  carriers,  greatly  to  my  own  regret.  I  went 
travelling  in  China,  in  Northern  Chihli  and  Inner  Mongolia, 
I  dwelt  apart  from  all  foreigners  in  a  temple  in  the  western 
hills,  and  I  found  with  a  good  cook  I  lived  very  comfortably 
off  the  countr^',  with  just  the  addition  of  a  few  biscuits,  tea, 
condensed  milk,  coffee  and  raisins,  therefore  I  persuaded 
myself  I  could  go  west  with  few  stores  and  do  exactly  the 
same.  Tlius  I  added  considerably  to  my  own  discomfort. 
The  excellent  master  of  transport  was  a  bad  cook,  and  a 
simple  diet  of  hard-boiled  eggs,  puffed  rice  and  tea,  with 
raisins  for  dessert,  however  good  in  itself,  is  apt  to  pall  when 
it  is  serv^ed  up  three  times  a  day  for  weeks  \^'ith  unfailing 
regularity. 

However,  I  didn't  know  that  at  the  time. 

And  at  last  all  was  ready.  I  had  written  to  all  the  mission 
stations  as  far  west  as  Tihwa,  in  Sinkiang,  announcing  my 
coming.  I  had  provided  myself  with  a  folding  table  and 
chair — ^they  both,  I  found,  were  given  to  fold  at  inconvenient 


10  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

moments — some  enamel  plates,  a  couple  of  glasses,  a  knife 
and  fork,  rudimentary  kitchen  utensils,  bedding,  cushions, 
rugs,  etc.,  and  all  was  ready.  I  was  to  start  the  next  week, 
ten  days  after  Mr  Purdom  and  Mr  Fan-er  had  set  out,  for 
Honan,  when  there  came  a  telegram  from  Hsi  An  Fu : 

"  Delay  journey "  (it  read).  "  White  wolf  in  Shensi. 
Shorrocks." 

Was  there  ever  such  country  ?  News  that  a  robber  was 
holding  up  the  road  could  be  sent  by  telegram  ! 

China  rather  specialises  in  robbers,  but  White  Wolf  was 
considerably  worse  than  the  average  gentleman  of  the  road. 
He  defied  the  Government  in  1914,  but  the  last  time  we  of 
the  mission  station  had  heard  of  him  he  was  making  things 
pleasant  for  the  peaceful  inhabitants  of  Anhwei,  to  the  east, 
and  the  troops  were  said  to  have  him  "  well  in  hand."  But 
in  China  you  never  know  exactly  where  you  are,  and  now  he 
was  in  Shensi ! 

I  read  that  telegram  in  the  pleasant  March  sunshine.  I 
looked  up  at  the  boughs  of  the  "  water  chestnuts,"  where  the 
buds  were  beginning  to  swell,  and  I  wondered  what  on  earth 
I  should  do.  The  roads  now  were  as  good  as  they  were  ever 
likely  to  be,  hard  after  the  long  winter  and  not  yet  broken 
up  by  the  summer  rains.  We  discussed  the  matter  from 
all  points  that  day  at  the  midday  dinner.  The  missionaries 
had  a  splendid  cook,  a  Chinese  who  had  had  his  kitchen 
education  finished  in  a  French  family,  and  with  a  few  good 
American  recipes  thrown  in  the  combination  makes  a  crafts- 
man fit  for  the  Savoy,  and  all  for  ten  Mexican  dollars  a 
month  !  Never  again  do  I  expect  to  meet  such  salads,  sweet 
and  savoury  !  And  here  was  I  doing  my  best  to  leave  the 
flesh-pots  of  Egypt.     It  seemed  foolish. 

I  contented  my  soul  ^^'ith  what  patience  I  might  for  a  week. 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN         11 

and  then  I  telegraphed  to  Honan  Fu,  at  which  place  I 
expected  to  be  well  away  from  the  railway.  Honan  Fu 
answered  promptly : 

"  The  case  is  hopeless.  Hsi  An  Fu  threatened.  Advise 
you  go  by  T'ai  Yuan  Fu." 

Now  the  road  from  Honan  Fu  to  Hsi  An  Fu  is  always 
dangerous.  It  is  through  the  loess,  sunken  many  feet  below 
the  level  of  the  surrounding  country,  and  at  the  best  of 
times  is  infested  with  stray  robbers  who,  from  the  cliffs 
above,  roll  down  missiles  on  the  carts  beneath,  kill  the 
mules  and  hold  the  travellers  at  their  mercy.  The  carters 
go  in  large  bodies  and  are  always  careful  to  find  themselves 
safe  in  the  inn-yards  before  the  dusk  has  fallen. 

These  were  the  everyday  dangers  of  the  way  such  as  men 
have  faced  for  thousands  of  years  ;  if  you  add  to  them  an 
organised  robber  band  and  a  large  body  of  soldiers  in  pursuit, 
clearly  that  road  is  no  place  for  a  solitary  foreign  woman, 
with  only  a  couple  of  attendants,  a  little  dog,  and  for  all 
arms  a  small  pistol  and  exactly  thirteen  cartridges — all  I 
could  get,  for  it  is  difficult  to  buy  ammunition  in  China. 
Then  to  clinch  matters  came  another  telegram  from  Hsi  An 
Fu,  in  cipher  this  time : 

"  Do  not  come  "  (it  said).  "  The  country  is  very  much 
disturbed." 

From  Anhwei  to  Shensi  the  brigands  had  operated.  They 
had  burned  and  looted  and  outraged  by  order  of  Pai  Lang 
(^^^lite  Wolf ),  leaving  behind  them  ruined  homes  and  desolated 
hearths,  and  when  the  soldiers  came  after  them,  so  said 
Rumour  of  the  many  tongues,  White  Wolf,  who  was  rich  by 
then,  left  money  on  the  roads  and  so  bribed  the  avenging 
army  to  come  over  to  him. 


12  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

But  to  the  ordinary  peaceful  inhabitant — ^and  curiously 
enough  the  ordinary  Chinese  is  extremely  peaceful — it  is  not 
a  matter  of  much  moment  whether  it  be  Pai  Lang  or  the 
soldier  who  is  hunting  him  who  falls  upon  the  country.  The 
inhabitants  are  sure  to  suffer.  Both  bandit  and  soldier  must 
have  food,  so  both  loot  and  outrage  impartially,  for  the 
unpaid  soldiery — I  hope  I  shall  not  be  sued  for  libel,  but  most 
of  the  soldiery  when  I  was  in  China  appeared  to  be  unpaid 
— ^loot  just  as  readily  as  do  the  professional  bandits.  A 
robber  band  alone  is  a  heavy  load  for  a  community  to 
carry,  and  a  robber  band  pursued  by  soldiers  more  than 
doubles  the  burden. 

Still  the  soldiers  held  Tungkwan,  the  gate  into  Shensi, 
the  mountains  on  either  side  blocked  the  way,  and  Hsi  An 
Fu  breathed  for  a  moment  till  it  was  discovered  that  Pai 
Lang  in  strategy  was  equal  to  anyone  who  had  been  sent 
against  him.  He  had  taken  the  old  and  difficult  route 
through  the  mountains  and  had  come  out  west  of  the  narrow 
pass  of  Tungkwan  and,  when  I  became  interested  in  him,  was 
within  a  day's  march  of  Hsi  An  Fu,  the  town  that  is  the 
capital  of  the  province  of  Shensi  and  was  the  capital  of 
China  many  hundreds  of  years  ago.  It  is  a  walled  city,  but 
the  people  feared  and  so  did  the  members  of  the  English 
Baptist  Mission  sheltering  behind  those  walls.  And,  natur- 
ally, they  feared,  for  the  Society  of  the  Elder  Brethren  had 
joined  Pai  Lang,  and  the  Society  of  Elder  Brethren  always 
has  been  and  is  markedly  anti -foreign.  Tliis  was  the  situa- 
tion, growing  daily  a  little  worse,  and  we  foreigners  looked 
on  ;  and  the  Government  organs  in  Peking  told  one  day  how 
a  certain  Tao  Tai  had  been  punished  and  degraded  because 
he  had  been  slack  in  putting  down  White  Wolf  and  possibly 
the  next  day  declared  the  power  of  White  Wolf  was  broken 
and  he  was  in  full  retreat.    I  don't  know  how  many  times 


THE  LURE  OF  THE  UNKNOWN         13 

I  read  the  power  of  White  Wolf  had  been  broken  and  yet  in 
the  end  I  was  regretfully  obliged  to  acknowledge  that  he 
was  stronger  than  ever.  Certainly  Pai  Lang  turned  my  face 
north  sooner  than  I  intended,  for  the  idea  of  being  a  target 
for  rocks  and  stones  and  billets  of  wood  at  the  bottom  of  a 
deep  ditch  from  which  there  could  be  no  escape  did  not 
commend  itself  to  me.  True,  in  loess  country,  as  I  after- 
wards fomid,  there  are  no  stones,  no  rocks  and  no  wood.  I 
can't  speak  for  the  road  through  Tungkwan,  for  I  didn't 
dare  it.  But,  even  if  there  were  no  stones,  loose  earth — 
and  there  is  an  unlimited  quantity  of  that  commodity 
in  Northern  China — flung  down  from  a  height  would  be 
exceedingly  unpleasant. 

Of  course  it  all  might  have  been  rumour — it  wasn't,  I 
found  out  afterwards ;  but  unfortunately  the  only  way  to 
find  out  at  the  time  was  by  going  to  see  for  myself,  and  if 
it  had  been  true — well,  in  all  probability  I  shouldn't  have 
come  back.  Tliat  missionary  evidently  realised  how  keen  I 
was  when  he  suggested  that  I  should  go  by  T'ai  Yuan  Fu, 
the  capital  of  Shansi,  and  I  determined  to  take  his  advice. 
There  was  a  way,  a  little- known  way,  across  the  mountains, 
across  Shansi,  by  Sui  Te  Chou  in  Shensi,  and  thence  into 
Kansu,  which  would  eventually  land  me  in  Lan  Chou  Fu  if 
I  cared  to  risk  it. 

This  time  I  asked  Mr  Long's  advice.  He  and  the  little 
band  of  nine  rescuers  who  had  ridden  hot  haste  to  the  aid 
of  the  Shensi  missionaries  during  the  revolution  had  taken 
this  road,  and  they  had  gone  in  the  depths  of  winter  when 
the  country  was  frozen  hard  and  the  thermometer  was  more 
often  below  zero,  very  far  below  zero,  than  not.  If  they 
had  accomplished  it  when  pressed  for  time  in  the  great  cold, 
I  thought  in  all  probability  I  might  manage  it  now  at  the 
best  time  of  the  year  and  at  my  leisure.     Mr  Long,  who 


14  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

would  have  liked  to  have  gone  himself,  thought  so  too, 
and  eventually  I  set  off. 

The  missionaries  were  goodness  itself  to  me.  Dr  Mackay, 
in  charge  of  the  Women's  Hospital,  set  me  up  with  all  sorts 
of  simple  drugs  that  I  might  require  and  that  I  could  manage, 
and  one  day  in  the  springtime,  when  the  buds  on  the  trees 
in  the  compound  were  just  about  to  burst,  and  full  of  the 
promise  of  the  life  that  was  coming,  I,  with  most  of  the 
missionaries  to  wish  me  "  Godspeed,"  and  with  James 
Buchanan  under  my  arm,  my  giggling  interpreter  and  my 
master  of  transport  following  with  my  gear,  took  train  to 
T'ai  Yuan  Fu,  a  walled  city  that  is  set  in  the  heart  of  a 
fertile  plateau  surrounded  by  mountains. 

The  great  adventure  had  begun. 


CHAPTER  n 

TRUCULENT  t'aI  YUAN  FU 

But  you  mayn't  go  to  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  in  one  day.  The 
southern  train  puts  you  down  at  Shih  Chia  Chuang — ^the 
village  of  the  Stone  Family — and  there  you  must  stay  till 
7.40  A.M.  next  morning,  when  the  French  railway  built 
through  the  mountains  that  divide  Shansi  from  Shensi  takes 
you  on  to  its  terminus  at  T'ai  Yuan  Fu.  There  is  a  little 
Chinese  inn  at  Shih  Chia  Chuang  that  by  this  time  has 
become  accustomed  to  catering  for  the  foreigner,  but  those 
who  are  wise  beg  the  hospitality  of  the  British  American 
Tobacco  Company. 

I  craved  that  hospitality,  and  two  kindly  young  men 
came  to  the  station  through  a  dust-storm  to  meet  me  and 
took  me  off  to  their  house  that,  whether  it  was  intended  to 
or  not,  with  great  cool  stone  balconies,  looked  like  a  fort. 
But  they  lived  on  perfectly  friendly  terms  \vith  people. 
Why  not  ?  To  a  gi-eat  number  of  the  missionaries  the 
B.A.T.  is  anathema  maranatha,  though  many  of  the  members 
rival  in  pluck  and  endurance  the  missionaries  themselves. 
And  why  is  it  a  crime  for  a  man  or  a  woman  to  smoke  ? 
Many  of  the  new  teachers  make  it  so  and  thus  lay  an  added 
burden  on  shoulders  already  heavily  weighted.  Personally 
I  should  encourage  smoking,  because  it  is  the  one  thing  people 
who  are  far  apart  as  the  Poles  might  have  in  common. 

And  goodness  knows  they  have  so  few  things.    Even  with 
the  animals  the  "  East  is  East  and  West  is  West  "  feeling  is 
most  marked.    Here  at  the  B.A.T.  they  had  a  small  pekinese 
15 


16  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

as  a  pet.  She  made  a  friend  of  James  Buchanan  in  a  high 
and  haughty  manner,  but  she  decUned  to  accompany  him 
outside  the  premises.  Once  she  had  been  stolen  and  had 
spent  over  three  months  in  a  Chinese  house.  Then  one  day 
her  master  saw  her  and,  making  good  his  claim,  took  her 
home  with  him.  Since  that  time  nothing  would  induce  her 
to  go  beyond  the  front  door.  She  said  in  effect  that  she  got 
all  the  exercise  she  needed  in  the  courtyard,  and  if  it  did 
spoil  her  figure,  she  preferred  a  little  weight  to  risking  the 
tender  mercies  of  a  Chinese  household,  and  I'm  sm*e  she 
told  Buchanan,  who,  having  the  sacred  V-shaped  mark  on 
his  forehead,  was  reckoned  very  beautiful  and  was  much 
admired  by  the  Chinese,  that  he  had  better  take  care  and 
not  fall  into  alien  hands.  Buchanan  as  a  puppy  of  two 
months  old  had  been  bought  in  the  streets  of  Peking,  and 
when  we  started  on  our  journey  must  have  been  nearly  ten 
months  old,  but  he  had  entirely  forgotten  his  origin  and 
regarded  all  Chinese  with  suspicion.  He  tolerated  the 
master  of  transport  as  a  follower  of  whom  we  had  need. 

"  Small  dog,"  Mr  Wang  called  him,  and  looked  upon  him 
doubtfully,  but  really  not  as  doubtfidly  as  Buchanan  looked 
at  him.  He  was  a  peaceful,  friendly  little  dog,  but  I  always 
thought  he  did  not  bite  Mr  Wang  simply  because  he  despised 
him  so. 

Those  two  young  men  were  more  than  good  to  me.  They 
gave  me  refreshment,  plenty  of  hot  water  to  wash  away  the 
ravages  of  the  dust-storm,  and  good  company,  and  as  we 
sat  and  talked — of  White  Wolf,  of  course — there  came  to  us 
the  tragedy  of  a  life,  a  woman  who  had  not  the  instincts  of 
Buchanan. 

Foreign  women  are  scarce  at  Shih  Chia  Chuang ;  one  a 
month  is  something  to  remark  upon,  one  a  week  is  a  crowd,  so 
that  when,  as  we  sat  in  the  big  sitting-room  talking,  the  door 


GATEWAY   OF  EVERLASTING   PEACE.  See  page  42. 


OLD   HOUSE  INHABITED   BY  THE  CHINA  INLAND   MISSION. 

See  page   39. 


TOMBS  OUTSIDE  KI  HSIEN. 

See  page  42. 


THE   FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST. 

See  page  42. 


TRUCULENT  T'AI  YUAN  FU  17 

opened  and  a  foi'eign  woman  stood  there,  everyone  rose  to 
his  feet  in  astonishment.  Mr  Long,  who  had  been  up  the 
hne,  stood  beside  her,  and  behind  her  was  a  Chinaman  with 
a  half-caste  baby  in  his  arms.  She  was  young  and  tall  and 
rather  pretty. 

"  I  bring  you  a  lady  in  distress,"  said  Mr  Long  rather 
hastily,  explaining  matters.  "  I  met  Mrs  Chang  on  the 
train.  She  has  miscalculated  her  resources  and  has  not 
left  herself  enough  money  to  get  to  Peking." 

The  woman  began  to  explain  ;  but  it  is  an  awkward  thing 
to  explain  to  strangers  that  you  have  no  money  and  are 
without  any  credentials.  I  hesitated.  Eventually  I  hope 
I  should  have  helped  her,  but  my  charity  and  kindliness 
were  by  no  means  as  ready  and  spontaneous  as  those  of  my 
gallant  young  host.  He  never  hesitated  a  moment.  You 
would  have  thought  that  women  and  babies  without  any 
money  were  his  everj^day  business. 

"  Why,  sure,"  said  he  in  his  pleasant  American  voice, 
"  if  I  can  be  of  any  assistance.  But  you  can't  go  to-day, 
Mrs  Chang  ;  of  course  you  will  stay  with  us — oh  yes,  yes ; 
indeed  w^e  should  be  very  much  hurt  if  you  didn't ;  and  you 
will  let  me  lend  you  some  money." 

And  so  she  was  established  among  us,  this  woman  who 
had  committed  the  unpardonable  sin  of  the  East,  the  sin 
against  her  race,  the  sin  for  which  there  is  no  atoning.  It 
is  extraordinary  after  all  these  years,  after  all  that  has 
been  said  and  \mtten,  that  Englishwomen,  women  of  good 
class  and  standing,  will  so  outrage  all  the  laws  of  decency 
and  good  taste.  This  woman  talked.  She  did  not  like  the 
Chinese,  she  would  not  associate  with  them ;  her  husband, 
of  course,  was  different.  He  was  good  to  her ;  but  it  was 
hard  to  get  work  in  these  troubled  times,  harder  still  to  get 
paid  for  it,  and  he  had  gone  away  in  search  of  it,  so  she  was 

B 


18  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

going  for  a  holiday  to  Peking  and — ^here  she  turned|to  the 
young  men  and  talked  about  the  society  and  the  dances  and 
the  amusement  she  expected  to  have  among  the  foreigners 
in  the  capital,  she  who  for  so  long  had  been  cut  off  from  such 
joys  in  the  heart  of  China  among  an  alien  people. 

We  listened.    WTiat  could  we  say  ? 

"  People  in  England  don't  really  understand,"  said  she, 
"  what  being  in  exile  means.  They  don't  understand  the 
craving  to  go  home  and  speak  to  one's  own  people  ;  but  being 
in  Peking  will  be  something  like  being  in  England." 

We  other  five  never  even  looked  at  each  other,  because 
we  knew,  and  we  could  hardly  believe,  that  she  had  not  yet 
realised  that  in  marrying  a  Chinese,  even  one  who  had  been 
brought  up  in  England,  she  had  exiled  herself  effectually. 
The  Chinese  look  down  upon  her,  they  will  have  none  of  her, 
and  among  the  foreigners  she  is  outcast.  These  young  men 
who  had  come  to  her  rescue  with  such  right  good  will — "  I 
could  not  see  a  foreign  woman  in  distress  among  Chinese  " 
— ^will  pass  her  in  the  street  with  a  bow,  will  not  see  her  if 
they  can  help  themselves,  will  certainly  object  that  anyone 
they  care  about  should  see  them  talking  to  her,  and  their 
attitude  but  reflects  that  of  the  majority  of  the  foreigners  in 
China.  Her  little  child  may  not  go  to  the  same  school  as 
the  foreign  children,  even  as  it  may  not  go  to  the  same 
school  as  the  Chinese.  She  has  committed  the  one  eiTor  that 
outclasses  her,  and  she  is  going  to  pay  for  it  in  bitterness  all 
the  days  of  her  life.  And  everyone  in  that  room,  while  we 
pitied  her,  held,  and  held  strongly,  that  the  attitude  of  the 
community,  foreign  and  Chinese,  was  one  to  be  upheld. 

"  East  is  East  and  West  is  West  and  never  the  twain  shall 
meet,"  and  yet  here  and  there  one  still  comes  across  a  foolish 
woman  who  ^vrecks  her  life  because  she  never  seems  to  have 
heard  of  this  dictum.     She  talked  and  talked,  and  told  us 


TRUCULENT  T'AI  YUAN  FU  19 

how  good  was  her  husband  to  her.  and  we  Hsteners  said 
afterwards  she  "  doth  protest  too  much,"  she  was  con- 
vincing herself,  not  us,  and  that,  of  course,  seeing  he  was  a 
Chinaman,  he  was  disappointed  that  the  baby  was  a  girl, 
and  that  his  going  off  alone  was  the  beginning  of  the  end, 
and  we  were  thankful  that  she  was  "  the  only  girl  her  mother 
had  got,"  and  so  she  could  go  back  to  her  when  the  inevitable 
happened. 

The  pity  of  it !  When  will  the  stay-at-home  English 
learn  that  the  very  worst  thing  one  of  their  women  can  do 
with  her  life  is  to  wed  an  Oriental  ?  But  when  I  think  of 
that  misguided  woman  in  that  remote  Chinese  village  I 
shall  always  think  too  of  those  gallant  young  gentlemen, 
perfect  in  courteous  kindlinesjs,  who  ran  the  B.A.T.  in  Shih 
Chia  Chuang. 

The  next  day  Buchanan  and  I  and  our  following  boarded 
the  luxurious  little  mountain  railway  and  went  to  T'ai  Yuan 
Fu. 

This  railway,  to  me,  who  know  nothing  of  such  things,  is 
a  very  marvel  of  engineering  skill.  There  are  great  rugged 
mountains,  steep  and  rocky,  and  the  train  winds  its  way 
through  them,  clinging  along  the  sides  of  precipices,  nmning 
through  dark  tunnels  and  cuttings  that  tower  high  over- 
head and  going  round  such  curves  that  the  engine  and  the 
guard's  van  of  a  long  train  are  going  in  exactly  opposite 
directions.  A  wonderful  railway,  and  doubly  was  I  inter- 
ested in  it  because  before  ever  I  came  to  China  I  had  heard 
about  it. 

When  there  are  disturbances  in  China  it  is  always  well 
for  the  foreign  element  to  flee  while  there  is  yet  time,  for  the 
sanctity  of  human  life  is  not  yet  thoroughly  gi'asped  there, 
and  there  is  always  the  chance  that  the  foreigner  may  be 
killed  first  and  his  harmlessness,  or  even  his  value,  discovered 


20  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

later.  So  in  the  revolution  in  the  winter  of  1910-1911, 
though  all  train  traffic  had  stopped,  the  missionaries  from 
T'ai  Yuan  Fu  and  those  from  the  country  beyond  fled  down 
this  railway.  A  friend  of  mine,  an  artist,  happened  to  be 
staying  at  a  mission  station  in  the  mountains  and  made  one 
of  the  party.  It  was  the  depth  of  a  Shansi  winter,  a  Con- 
tinental winter,  with  the  thermometer  generally  below 
—  15°  at  the  warmest  part  of  the  day,  and  the  little  band 
of  fugitives  came  fleeing  down  this  line  on  trollies  worked 
by  the  men  of  the  party.  They  stayed  the  nights  at  the 
deserted  railway  stations,  whence  all  the  officials  had  fled, 
and  the  country  people  in  their  faded  blue  cotton  wadded 
coats  came  and  looked  at  them  and,  pointing  their  fingers 
at  them  exactly  as  I  have  seen  the  folks  in  the  streets  of 
London  do  at  a  Chinaman  or  an  Arab  in  an  outlandish 
dress,  remarked  that  these  people  were  going  to  their 
death. 

"  Death  !  Death  !  "  sounded  on  all  sides.  They,  the 
country  people,  were  peaceful  souls ;  they  would  not  have 
killed  them  themselves ;  they  merely  looked  upon  them  as 
an  interesting  exhibit  because  they  were  foreign  and  they 
were  going  to  die.  That  the  audience  were  wi'ong  the  people 
on  show  were  not  quite  as  sure  as  they  would  have  liked  to 
be,  and  a  single-line  railway  through  mountainous  country 
is  by  no  means  easy  to  negotiate  on  a  trolly.  They  came 
to  places  where  the  line  was  carried  upon  trestles ;  they 
could  see  a  river  winding  its  way  at  the  bottom  of  a  rocky 
ravine  far  below  them,  and  the  question  would  be  how  to 
get  across.  It  required  more  nerve  than  most  of  them  had 
to  walk  across  the  skeleton  bridge.  The  procedure  seems  to 
have  been  to  give  each  trolly  a  good  hard  push,  to  spring 
upon  it  and  to  trust  to  Providence  to  get  safely  across  to  the 
firm  earth  upon  the  other  side.    The  tunnels  too,  and  the 


TRUCULENT  T'AI  YUAN  FU  21 

sharp  curves,  were  hair-raising,  for  they  knew  nothing  of 
what  was  happening  at  the  other  end  of  the  line,  and  for  all 
they  could  say  they  might  have  come  full  butt  upon  a  train 
rushing  up  in  the  other  direction. 

Eventually  they  did  get  through,  but  with  considerable 
hardship,  and  I  should  hesitate  to  say  how  many  days  that 
little  company  went  ^vithout  taking  off  their  clothes.  I 
thought  of  them  whenever  our  train  went  into  a  tunnel, 
and  I  thought  too  of  the  gay  girl  who  told  me  the  story  and 
who  had  dwelt  not  upon  the  discomfort  and  danger,  but 
upon  the  excitement  and  exhilaration  that  comes  with 
danger. 

"  I  lived,"  said  she,  "  I  lived,"  and  my  heart  went  out  to 
her.  It  is  that  spirit  in  this  "  nation  of  shopkeepers  "  that 
is  helping  us  to  beat  the  Germans. 

The  scenerj^  through  which  we  went  is  beautiful — it  would 
be  beautiful  in  any  land — and  this  in  China,  where  I  expected 
not  so  much  beauty  as  industry.  There  were  evidences 
of  industry  in  plenty  on  every  side.  These  people  were 
brethren  of  the  bandits  who  turned  me  north  and  they  are 
surely  the  most  industrious  in  the  world.  Wherever  among 
these  stony  hills  there  was  a  patch  of  ground  fit  for  cultiva- 
tion, though  it  was  tiny  as  a  pocket  handkerchief,  it  was 
cultivated.  Everywhere  I  saw  people  at  work  in  the  fields, 
digging,  weeding,  ploughing  with  a  dry  cow  or  a  dry  cow  and 
a  donkey  hitched  to  the  primitive  plough,  or  guiding  trains 
of  donkeys  or  mules  carrying  merchandise  along  the  steep 
and  narrow  paths,  and  more  than  once  I  saw  strings  of 
camels,  old-world  camels  that  took  me  back  before  the  days 
of  written  history.  They  kept  to  the  valleys  and  evidently 
made  their  way  along  the  river  beds. 

Through  mountain  sidings  and  tunnels  we  came  at  length 
to  the  curious  loess  country,  where  the  friable  land  is  cut 


22  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

into  huge  terraces  that  make  the  high  hills  look  like  pyramids 
carved  in  great  clay-coloured  steps,  and  now  in  April  the 
green  crops  were  already  springing ;  another  month  and 
they  would  be  banks  of  waving  green.  The  people  are  poor, 
their  faces  were  browned  by  the  sun  and  the  wind,  their 
garments  were  scanty  and  ragged,  and  the  original  blue  was 
faded  till  the  men  and  the  clothes  were  all  the  same  monoton- 
ous clay  colour  of  the  surrounding  country.  The  women  I 
saw  here  were  few,  and  only  afterwards  I  found  the  reason. 
The  miserably  poor  peasant  of  Shansi  binds  the  feet  of  his 
women  so  effectually  that  to  the  majority  movement  is  a 
physical  impossibility. 

We  climbed  up  and  up  through  the  mountains  into  the 
loess  country,  and  at  last  we  were  on  the  plateau,  about  four 
thousand  feet  above  the  sea-level,  whereon  is  T'ai  Yuan  Fu, 
the  capital  of  the  province.  There  are  other  towns  here  too, 
little  walled  cities,  and  the  train  drew  up  at  the  stations 
outside  the  grey  brick  walls,  the  most  ancient  and  the  most 
modern,  Babylon  and  Crewe  meeting.  Oh,  I  understand  the 
need  of  those  walled  cities  now  I  have  heard  so  much  about 
Pai  Lang.  There  is  a  certain  degree  of  safety  behind  those 
grey  walls,  so  long  as  the  robber  bands  are  small  and  the  great 
iron-bound  gates  can  keep  them  out,  but  dire  is  the  fate  of 
the  city  into  which  the  enemy  has  penetrated,  has  fastened 
the  gates  and  holds  the  people  in  a  trap  behind  their  own 
walls. 

But  these  people  were  at  peace  ;  they  were  thinking  of  no 
robbers.  Pai  Lang  was  about  five  hundred  miles  away  and 
the  station  platforms  were  crowded  with  would-be  travellers 
with  their  belongings  in  bundles,  and  over  the  fence  that 
shut  off  the  platform  hung  a  vociferating  crowd  waving 
white  banners  on  which  were  inscribed  in  black  characters 


TRUCULENT  T'AI  YUAN  FU  23 

the  signs  of  the  various  inns,  while  each  banner-bearer  at 
the  top  of  his  voice  advocated  the  charms  of  his  own  em- 
ployer's establishment.  The  queue  was  forbidden  for  the 
moment,  but  many  of  these  ragged  touts  and  many  of  the 
other  peasants  still  wore  their  heads  shaven  in  front,  for 
the  average  Chinaman,  especially  he  of  the  poorer  classes, 
is  loath  to  give  up  the  fashions  of  his  forefathers. 

Every  railway  platform  was  pandemoniiun,  for  every 
person  on  that  platform  yelled  and  shrieked  at  the  top  of  his 
voice.  On  the  main  line  every  station  was  guarded  by  un- 
tidy, unkempt-looking  soldiers  armed  with  rifles,  but  there 
on  this  little  mountain  railway  the  only  guards  were  police- 
men, equally  unkempt,  clad  in  very  dusty  black  and  white 
and  armed  with  stout-looking  bludgeons.  They  stood  along 
the  line  at  regular  intervals,  good-natured-looking  men,  and 
I  wondered  whether  they  would  really  be  any  good  in  an 
emergency,  or  whether  they  would  not  take  the  line  of  least 
resistance  and  join  the  attacking  force. 

All  across  the  cultivated  plain  we  went,  where  not  an  inch 
of  ground  is  wasted,  and  at  half-past  five  in  the  evening  we 
arrived  at  T'ai  Yuan  Fu — arrived,  that  is,  at  the  station 
outside  the  little  South  Gate. 

T'ai  Yuan  Fu  is  a  great  walled  city  eight  miles  round,  with 
five  gates  in  the  walls,  gates  that  contrast  strangely  with  the 
modern-looking  macadamised  road  which  goes  up  from  the 
station.  I  don't  know  why  I  should  feel  that  way,  for  they 
certainly  had  paved  roads  even  in  the  days  before  history. 
Outside  the  walls  are  neat,  perhaps  forty  feet  high  and  of 
grey  brick,  and  inside  you  see  how  these  city  w^alls  are  made, 
for  they  are  the  unfinished  clay  banks  that  have  been  faced 
in  front,  and  when  I  was  there  in  the  springtime  the  grass 
upon  them  was  showing  everj^vhere  and  the  shrubs  were 


24  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

bursting  into  leaf.    But  those  banks  gave  me  a  curious  feeling 
of  being  behind  the  scenes. 

I  was  met  at  the  station  by  some  of  the  ladies  of  the 
English  Baptist  Mission  who  had  come  to  welcome  me  and 
to  offer  me,  a  total  stranger  to  them,  kindly  hospitality, 
and  we  walked  through  the  gate  to  the  mission  inside  the 
walls.  It  was  only  a  short  walk,  short  and  dusty,  but  it  was 
thronged.  All  the  roadway  was  crowded  with  rickshaws 
and  carts  waiting  in  a  long  line  their  turn  to  go  underneath 
the  gateway  ov^er  which  frowTied  a  typical  many-roofed 
Chinese  watch  tower,  and  as  cart  or  rickshaw  came  up  the 
men  along  with  it  were  stopped  by  the  dusty  soldiery  in 
black  and  grey  and  interrogated  as  to  their  business. 

When  I  got  out  on  to  the  platform  I  had  looked  up  at  the 
ancient  walls  clear-cut  against  the  bright  blue  sky,  and  the 
women  meeting  me  looked  askance  at  Tsai  Chih  Fu,  who,  a 
lordly  presence,  stood  behind  me,  with  James  Buchanan  in 
his  arms,  a  little  black  satin  cap  on  his  head  and  his  pigtail 
hanging  down  his  back. 

"  There  is  some  little  commotion  in  the  town,"  said  Miss 
Franklin.     "  They  are  cutting  off  queues." 

The  master  of  transport  smiled  tolerantly  w^hen  they 
told  him,  and,  taking  off  his  cap,  he  wound  his  tightly  round 
his  head. 

"  I  know,"  he  said  in  the  attitude  of  a  man  of  the  world, 
"  some  people  do  not  wear  them  now.  But  I  have  always 
worn  one,  and  I  like  it,"  and  his  manner  said  he  would  like 
to  see  the  person  who  would  dare  dictate  to  him  in  what 
manner  he  should  wear  his  hair.  He  could  certainly  have 
put  up  a  good  fight. 

It  was  not  needed.  He  passed  tlirough  unchallenged  ;  he 
was  a  quietly  dressed  man  who  did  not  court  notice  and 
his  strapping  inches  were  in  his  favour.    He  might  well  be 


^i 

SIlj^^^^Kp  ^^^  ^^^^^^^^^^^^^I 

i^H^ 

^^B^^^Mn^^ri 

^^^^^^^■^■j  4i,^^PI£^^^^^^HH^I 

CORONER'S  COURT. 

See  page  44. 


m^ 


THE  WALLS  OF  FEN   CHOU  FU. 
THE  NORTH  GATE  AND  NORTHERN  SUBURB. 


See  page   52. 


f-       ^ 

Uawin.i|Y 

^T| 

^-t'-  ^-^ 

1 

INSIDE  THE  NORTH   GATE  FEN   CHOU  FU. 
See  page   53. 


RUSTY  OLD  WORLD  CANNON  AND  THE   MASTER  OF  TRANSPORT. 

See  puge   53. 


TRUCULENT  T'AI  YUAN  FU  25 

passed  over  when  there  were  so  many  slighter  men  more 
easily  tackled.  One  man  riding  along  in  a  rickshaw  I  saw 
put  up  a  splendid  fight.  At  last  he  was  hauled  out  of  his 
carriage  and  his  little  round  cap  tossed  off  his  head,  and  then 
it  was  patent  his  queue  could  not  be  cut,  for  he  was  bald  as 
a  billiard  ball !  The  Chinese  do  understand  a  joke,  even  a 
mob.  They  yelled  and  howled  with  laughter,  and  we  heard 
it  echoing  and  re-echoing  as  we  passed  under  the  frowning 
archway,  tramping  across  many  a  dusty  coil  of  coarse  black 
hair  roughly  shorn  from  the  heads  of  the  luckless  adherents 
to  the  old  fashion.  The  missionaries  said  that  Tsai  Chih  Fu 
must  be  the  only  man  in  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  with  a  pigtail  and 
that  it  would  be  very  useful  to  us  as  we  went  farther  west, 
where  they  had  not  yet  realised  the  revolution.  They 
doubted  if  he  would  be  able  to  keep  it  on  so  strict  was 
the  rule,  but  he  did — a  tribute,  I  take  it,  to  the  force  of  my 
"  master  of  transport." 

The  ladies  lived  in  a  Chinese  house  close  imder  the  walls. 
There  is  a  great  charm  about  these  houses  built  round  court- 
yards in  the  Chinese  style  ;  there  is  always  plenty  of  air  and 
sunshine,  though,  as  most  of  the  rooms  open  into  the  court- 
yard only,  I  admit  in  rough  weather  they  must  sometimes 
be  awtvvard,  and  when — as  is  always  the  case  in  Shansi  in 
winter- time — the  courtyard  is  covered  with  ice  and  snow,  and 
the  thermometer  is  far  below  zero  for  weeks  at  a  time,  it 
is  impossible  to  go  from  bedroom  to  sitting-room  without 
being  well  ^^Tapped  up.  And  yet,  because  China  is  not  a 
damp  country,  it  could  never  be  as  awkward  as  it  would  be 
in  England,  and  for  weeks  at  a  time  it  is  a  charming  ar- 
rangement. Staying  there  in  April,  I  found  it  delightful. 
Buchanan  and  I  had  a  room  under  a  great  tree  just  showing 
the  first  faint  tinge  of  green,  and  I  shall  always  be  grateful 
for  the  kindly  hospitality  those  young  ladies  gave  me. 


26  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

From  there  we  went  out  and  saw  T'ai  Yuan  Fu,  and  an- 
other kindly  missionary  engaged  muleteers  for  me  and  made 
all  arrangements  for  my  journey  across  Shansi  and  Shensi 
and  Kansu  to  Lan  Chou  Fu. 

But  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  is  not  a  nice  town  to  stay  in. 

"  The  town,"  said  the  missionaries,  "  is  progressive  and 
anti-foreign."  It  is.  You  feel  somehow  the  difference  in 
the  attitude  of  the  people  the  moment  you  set  foot  inside 
the  walls.  It  seems  to  me  that  if  trouble  really  came  it 
would  be  an  easy  matter  to  seize  the  railway  and  cut  off 
the  foreign  missionaries  from  all  help,  for  it  is  at  least  a 
fortnight  away  in  the  mountains. 

They  suffered  cruelly  at  the  Boxer  time :  forty  men, 
women  and  little  helpless  children  were  butchered  in  cold 
blood  in  the  yamen,  and  the  archway  leading  to  the  hospital 
where  Miss  Coombs  the  schoolmistress  was  deliberately 
burned  to  death  while  trying  to  guard  and  shelter  her 
helpless  pupils  still  stands.  In  the  yamen,  with  a  refine- 
ment of  torture,  they  cut  to  pieces  the  little  children  first, 
and  then  the  women,  the  nuns  of  the  Catholic  Church  the 
fierce  soldiery  dishonoured,  and  finally  they  slew  all  the  men. 
Against  the  walls  in  the  street  stand  two  miserable  stones 
that  the  Government  were  forced  to  put  up  to  the  memory 
of  the  foreigners  thus  ruthlessly  done  to  death,  but  a  deeper 
memorial  is  engraven  on  the  hearts  of  the  people.  Some 
few  years  later  the  tree  underneath  which  they  were  slain 
was  blasted  by  lightning  and  half  destroyed,  and  on  that 
very  spot,  during  the  recent  revolution,  the  Tao  Tai  of  the 
province  was  killed. 

"  A  judgment ! "  said  the  superstitious  people.  "  A 
judgment !  "  say  even  the  educated. 

And  during  the  late  revolution  the  white  people  shared 
with  the  inhabitants  a  terribly  anxious  time.    Shut  up  in 


TRUCULENT  T'AI  YUAN  FU  27 

the  hospital  with  a  raging  mob  outside,  they  waited  for  the 
place  to  be  set  on  fire.  The  newest  shops  in  the  principal 
streets  were  being  looted,  the  Manchu  city — a  little  walled 
city  within  the  great  city — was  destroyed,  and  though  they 
opened  the  gates  and  told  the  Manchus  they  might  escape, 
the  mob  hunted  down  the  men  as  they  fled  and  slew  them, 
though,  more  merciful  than  Hsi  An  Fu,  they  let  the  women 
and  children  escape.  Men's  blood  was  up,  the  lust  of  killing 
was  upon  them,  and  the  men  and  women  behind  the  hospital 
walls  trembled. 

"  We  made  up  our  minds,"  said  a  young  missionary  lady 
to  me,  "  that  if  they  fired  the  place  we  would  rush  out  and 
mingle  in  the  mob  waiting  to  kill  us.  They  looked  a^vful. 
I  can't  tell  you  how  they  looked,  but  it  would  have  been 
better  than  being  burned  like  rats  in  a  trap." 

A  Chinese  crowd,  to  my  Western  eyes,  unkempt,  unwashed, 
always  looks  awful ;  what  it  must  be  like  when  they  are  out 
to  kill  I  caimot  imagine. 

And  then  she  went  on :  "  Do  you  know,  I  was  not  really 
as  much  afraid  as  I  should  have  thought  I  would  have  been. 
There  was  too  much  to  think  about."  Oh,  merciful  God  ! 
I  pray  that  always  in  such  moments  there  may  be  "  too  much 
to  think  about." 

The  mob  looted  the  city.  They  ruined  the  university. 
They  destroyed  the  Manchus.  But  they  spared  the 
foreigners  ;  and  still  there  flourishes  in  the  town  a  mission  of 
the  English  Baptists  and  another  of  the  Catholics,  but  when 
I  was  there  the  town  had  not  yet  settled  down.  There  was 
unrest,  and  the  missionaries  kept  their  eyes  anxiously  on  the 
south,  on  the  movements  of  Pai  Lang.  We  thought  about 
him  at  Pao  Ting  Fu,  but  here  the  danger  was  just  a  little 
nearer,  help  just  a  little  farther  away.  Besides,  the  people 
were  different.    They  were  not  quite  so  subservient,  not 


28  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

quite  so  friendly  to  the  foreigner,  it  would  take  less  to  light 
the  tinder. 

For  myself,  I  was  glad  of  the  instinct  that  had  impelled 
me  to  engage  as  servant  a  man  of  inches.  I  dared  never 
walk  in  the  streets  alone  as  I  had  been  accustomed  to  in 
Pao  Ting  Fu.  It  marks  in  my  mind  the  jumping-off  place. 
Here  I  left  altogether  the  civilisation  of  the  West  and  tasted 
the  age-old  civilisation  of  the  East,  the  civilisation  that  was 
in  full  swing  when  my  ancestors  were  naked  savages  hunting 
the  deer  and  the  bear  and  the  wolf  in  the  swamps  and 
marshes  of  Northern  Europe.  I  had  thought  I  had  reached 
that  civilisation  when  I  lived  in  Peking,  when  I  dwelt  alone 
in  a  temple  in  the  mountains,  when  I  went  to  Pao  Ting  Fu, 
but  here  in  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  the  feeling  deepened.  Only  the 
mission  stations  stood  between  me  and  this  strange  thing. 
The  people  in  the  streets  looked  at  me  askance,  over  the 
compound  wall  came  the  curious  sounds  of  an  ancient  people 
at  work,  the  shrieking  of  the  greased  wheel- barrows,  the 
beating  of  gongs,  the  whir  of  the  rattle  of  the  embroidery 
silk  seller,  the  tinkling  of  the  bells  that  were  hung  round 
the  necks  of  the  donkeys  and  the  mules,  the  shouting  of  the 
hucksters  selling  scones  and  meat  balls,  all  the  sounds  of  an 
industrious  city,  and  I  was  an  outsider,  the  alien  who  was 
something  of  a  curiosity,  but  who  anyhow  was  of  no  account. 
Frankly,  I  don't  like  being  of  no  account.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  I  shocked  all  Chinese  ideas  of  correct  deportment. 
When  a  well-bred  Chinese  gentleman  arrives  at  a  strange 
place,  he  does  not  look  around  him,  he  shows  no  curiosity 
whatever  in  his  surroundings,  he  retires  to  his  room,  his 
meal  is  brought  to  him  and  he  remains  quietly  in  his  resting- 
place  till  it  is  time  for  him  to  take  his  departure,  and  what 
applies  to  a  man,  applies,  of  course,  in  an  exaggerated  degree, 
to  a  wcanan.     Now  I  had  come  to  see  China,  and  I  made 


TRUCULENT  TAI  YUAN  FU  80 

every  effort  in  my  power  to  see  all  I  could.  I  tremble  to 
think  what  the  inhabitants  of  Shansi  must  have  thought  of 
me  !  Possibly,  since  I  outraged  all  their  canons  of  decency, 
I  was  lucky  in  that  they  only  found  me  of  no  account. 

All  the  while  I  was  in  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  I  was  exceedingly 
anxious  about  the  measure  of  safety  for  a  foreign  woman 
outside  the  walls,  and  opinions  differed  as  to  the  ^\dsdom 
of  my  venture,  but,  on  the  whole,  those  I  consulted  thought 
I  would  be  all  right.  They  rather  envied  me,  in  fact,  the 
power  to  go  wandering,  but  on  one  point  they  were  very 
sure :  it  was  a  pity  Dr  Edwards,  the  veteran  missionary 
doctor,  was  not  there,  because  he  knew  more  about  China 
and  travelling  there  than  all  the  rest  of  them  put  together. 
But  he  had  gone  out  on  his  own  account  and  was  on  the  way 
to  Hsi  An  Fu,  the  to^NH  I  had  given  up  as  hopeless.  He  did 
not  propose  to  approach  it  through  the  Tungkwan,  but  from 
the  north,  and  they  did  not  expect  him  to  have  any  difficulty. 

Then  I  found  I  had  not  brought  enough  money  with  me 
and  the  missionaries  lent  me  more,  and  they  engaged 
muleteers  with  four  mules  and  a  donkey  that  were  to  take 
me  across  the  thousand  miles  that  lay  between  the  capital 
of  Shansi  and  that  of  Kansu.  Two  men  were  in  charge,  and 
the  cost  of  getting  there,  everything  included — the  men  to 
feed  themselves  and  their  animals  and  I  only  to  be  responsible 
for  the  feeding  and  lodging  of  my  own  servants — was  exactly 
eighteen  pounds.  It  has  always  seemed  to  me  ridiculously 
cheap.  Money  must  go  a  long  way  in  China  for  it  to  be 
possible  for  two  men  to  take  four  mules  and  a  donkey  laden 
a  thousand  miles,  and  then  come  back  unladen  and  keep 
themselves  by  the  way,  for  so  small  a  sum. 

So  I  sent  off  my  servants  the  day  before,  then  Buchanan 
and  I  bade  good-bye  to  the  missionaries  and  went  the  first 
day's  journey  back  along  the  fine  to  Yu  Tze,  where  the  road 


30  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

started  for  the  Yellow  River,  and  as  I  left  the  train  and  was 
taken  by  Tsai  Chih  Fu  and  Mr  Wang  to  the  enclosure  of  the 
inn  where  they  had  spent  the  night  I  felt  that  I  had  indeed 
left  the  West  behind,  and  the  only  companion  and  friend  I 
had  was  James  Buchanan.  It  was  lucky  he  was  a  host  in 
himself. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE  FIRST  SIGN   OF  UNREST 

I  WAS  to  ride  a  pack- mule.  Now  riding  a  pack- mule  at 
any  time  is  an  unpleasant  way  of  getting  along  the  road.  I 
know  no  more  uncomfortable  method.  It  is  not  quite  as 
comfoi-table  as  sitting  upon  a  table  with  one's  legs  dangling, 
for  the  table  is  still,  the  mule  is  moving,  and  one's  legs  dangle 
on  either  side  of  his  neck.  There  are  neither  reins  nor 
stirrups,  and  the  mule  goes  at  his  ovm.  sweet  will,  and  in  a 
very  short  time  your  back  begins  to  ache,  after  a  few  hours 
that  aching  is  intolerable.  To  get  over  this  difficulty  the 
missionary  had  cut  the  legs  off  a  chair  and  suggested  that, 
mounted  on  the  pack,  I  might  sit  in  it  comfortably.  I  don't 
know  whether  I  could,  for  the  mule  objected. 

It  was  a  sunny  morning  with  a  bright  blue  sky  above,  and 
all  seemed  auspicious  except  my  mule,  who  expressed  in 
no  measured  language  his  dislike  to  that  chair.  Tsai  Chih 
Fu  had  no  sooner  hoisted  me  into  it  than  up  he  went  on  his 
hind  legs  and,  using  them  as  a  pivot,  stood  on  end  pawing 
the  air.  Everybody  in  the  inn-yard  shrieked  and  yelled 
except,  I  hope,  myself,  and  then  Tsai  Chih  Fu,  how  I  know 
not,  rescued  me  from  my  unpleasant  position,  and  thank- 
fully I  foimd  myself  upon  the  firm  ground  again.  He  was 
a  true  Chinese  mule  and  objected  to  all  innovations.  He 
stood  meekly  enough  once  the  chair  was  removed. 

I  wanted  to  cross  Asia  and  here  I  was  faced  with  disaster 
at  the  very  outset !  Finally  I  was  put  upon  the  pack 
minus  the  chair,  Buchanan  was  handed  up  to  me  and 
31 


82  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

nestled  down  beside  me,  and  the  procession  started.  My 
heart  sank.  I  don't  mind  acknowledging  it  now.  I  had 
at  least  a  thousand  miles  to  go,  and  within  half-an-hour  of 
the  start  I  had  thoroughly  grasped  the  fact  that  of  all  modes 
of  progression  a  pack-mule  is  the  most  abominable.  There 
are  no  words  at  my  command  to  express  its  discomforts. 

Very  little  did  I  see  of  the  landscape  of  Shansi  that  day. 
I  was  engaged  in  hanging  on  to  my  pack  and  wondering  how 
I  could  stick  it  out.  We  passed  along  the  usual  hopeless 
cart-track  of  China.  I  had  eschewed  Peking  carts  as  being 
the  very  acme  of  misery,  but  I  was  beginning  to  reflect 
that  anyhow  a  cart  was  comparatively  passive  misery  while 
the  back  of  a  pack-mule  was  decidedly  active.  Buchanan 
was  a  good  little  dog,  but  he  mentioned  several  times  in 
the  course  of  that  day  that  he  was  uncomfortable  and 
he  thought  I  was  doing  a  fool  thing.  I  was  much  of  his 
opinion. 

The  day  was  never  ending.  All  across  a  plain  we  went, 
with  rough  fields  just  showing  green  on  either  hand,  through 
walled  villages,  through  little  towns,  and  I  cared  for  nothing, 
I  was  too  intent  on  holding  on,  on  wishing  the  day  would 
end,  and  at  last,  as  the  dusk  was  falling,  the  muleteer  pointed 
out,  clear-cut  against  the  evening  sky,  the  long  walls  of  a 
large  town — ^Taiku.    At  last !   At  last  ! 

I  was  to  stay  the  night  at  a  large  mission  school  kept  by 
a  Mr  and  Mrs  Wolf,  and  I  only  longed  for  the  comfort  of 
a  bed,  any  sort  of  a  bed  so  long  as  it  was  flat  and  warm  and 
kept  still.  We  went  on  and  on,  we  got  into  the  suburbs  of 
the  town,  and  we  appeared  to  go  round  and  round,  through 
an  unending  length  gf  dark,  narrow  streets,  full  of  ruts  and 
holes,  with  the  dim  loom  of  houses  on  either  side,  and  an 
occasional  gleam  of  light  from  a  dingy  kerosene  lamp  or 
Chinese  paper  lantern  showing  through  the  paper  windows. 


TREE  FULL  OF   BIRD'S  NESTS  IN   EASTERN  SUBURB   FEN   CHOU  FU. 


TEMPLE   FROM   THE  WALL   FEN  CHOU   FU. 
See  page  jc. 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  33 

Again  and  again  we  stopped  and  spoke  to  men  who  were 
merely  muffled  shapeless  figures  in  the  darkness,  and  again 
we  went  on.  I  think  now  that  in  all  probability  neither 
Tsai  Chih  Fu  nor  Mr  Wang  understood  enough  of  the  dialect 
to  make  the  muleteers  or  the  people  of  whom  we  inquired 
understand  where  we  wanted  to  go,  but  at  last,  more  prob- 
ably by  good  luck  than  good  management,  somebody, 
seeing  I  was  a  foreigner,  sent  us  to  the  foreigners  they  knew, 
those  who  kept  a  school  for  a  hundred  and  twenty-five  boys 
in  the  lovely  Flower  Garden.  It  certainly  was  lovely,  an  old- 
world  Chinese  house,  with  little  courtyards  and  ponds  and 
terraces  and  flowers  and  trees — and  that  comfortable  bed 
I  had  been  desiring  so  long.  As  we  entered  the  courtyard 
in  the  darkness  and  Tsai  Chih  Fu  lifted  me  down,  the  bed 
was  the  only  thing  I  could  think  of. 

And  yet  next  day  I  started  again — I  wonder  now  I  dared 
— and  we  skirted  the  walls  of  Taiku.  We  had  gone  round 
two  sides  and  then,  as  I  always  do  when  I  am  dead-tired,  I 
had  a  bad  attack  of  breathlessness.  Stay  on  that  pack  I 
knew  I  could  not,  so  I  made  my  master  of  transport  lift 
me  down,  and  I  sat  on  a  bank  for  the  edification  of  all  the 
small  boys  in  the  district  who,  even  if  they  had  known  how 
ill  I  felt,  probably  would  not  have  cared,  and  I  decided  there 
and  then  that  pack-mule  riding  was  simply  impossible  and 
something  would  have  to  be  done.  Therefore,  with  great 
difficulty,  I  made  my  way  back  to  the  mission  school  and 
asked  Mr  Wolf  what  he  would  recommend. 

Again  were  missionaries  kindness  itself  to  me.  They 
sympathised  with  my  trouble,  they  took  me  in  and  made 
me  their  guest,  refusing  to  take  any  money  for  it,  though 
they  added  to  their  kindness  by  allowing  me  to  pay  for  the 
keep  of  my  servants,  and  they  strongly  recommended  that  I 
should  have  a  Utter.  A  Utter  then  I  decided  I  would  htvj. 
c 


34  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

It  is,  I  should  think,  the  very  earhest  form  of  human  con- 
veyance. It  consists  of  two  long  poles  laid  about  as  far 
apart  as  the  shafts  of  an  ordinary  cart,  in  the  middle  is 
hung  a  coarse-meshed  rope  net,  and  over  that  a  tilt  of 
matting — the  sort  of  stuff  we  see  tea-chests  covered  with 
in  this  country.  Into  the  net  is  tumbled  all  one's  small 
impedimenta — dothes-bags,  kettles,  anything  that  will  not 
conveniently  go  on  mule- back ;  the  bedding  is  put  on  top, 
rugs  and  cushions  arranged  to  the  future  inmate's  satisfac- 
tion, then  you  get  inside  and  the  available  people  about  are 
commandeered  to  hoist  the  concern  on  to  the  backs  of  the 
couple  of  mules,  who  object  very  strongly.  The  head  of  the 
one  behind  is  in  the  shafts,  and  the  ends  rest  in  his  pack- 
saddle,  and  the  hind  quarters  of  the  one  in  front  are  in  the 
shafts,  just  as  in  an  ordinary  buggy.  Of  course  there  are 
no  reins,  and  at  first  I  felt  very  much  at  the  mercy  of  the 
mules,  though  I  am  bound  to  say  the  big  white  mule  who 
conducted  my  affairs  seemed  to  thorouglily  understand  his 
business.  Still  it  is  uncomfortable,  to  say  the  least  of  it, 
to  find  yourself  going,  apparently  quite  unattended,  down 
steep  and  rocky  paths,  or  right  into  a  rushing  river.  But 
on  the  whole  a  litter  is  a  very  comfortable  way  of  travelling ; 
after  a  pack-mule  it  was  simply  heaven,  and  I  had  no  doubts 
whatever  that  I  could  comfortably  do  the  thousand  miles, 
lessened  now,  I  think,  by  about  thirty,  that  lay  before  me. 
If  I  reached  Lan  Chou  Fu  there  would  be  time  enough  to 
think  how  I  would  go  on  farther.  And  here  my  muleteers 
had  me.  When  I  arranged  for  a  Utter,  I  paid  them,  of  course, 
extra,  and  I  said  another  mule  was  to  be  got  to  carry  some 
of  the  loads.  They  accepted  the  money  and  agreed.  But 
I  may  say  that  that  other  mule  never  materialised.  I 
accepted  the  excuse  when  we  left  Taiku  that  there  was  no 
other  mule  to  be  hired,  and  by  the  time  that  excuse  had 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  35 

worn  thin  I  had  so  much  else  to  think  about  that  I  bore  up, 
though  not  even  a  donkey  was  added  to  our  equipment. 

Money  I  took  vdth  me  in  lumps  of  silver,  sycee — shoes, 
they  called  them — and  a  very  unsatisfactory  way  it  is  of 
canying  cash.  It  is  very  heavy  and  there  is  no  hiding  the 
fact  that  you  have  got  it.  We  changed  little  bits  for  our 
daily  needs  as  we  went  along,  just  as  little  as  we  could,  be- 
cause the  change  in  cash  was  an  intolerable  burden.  On  one 
occasion  in  Fen  Chou  Fu  I  gave  Tsai  Chih  Fu  a  very  small 
piece  of  silver  to  change  and  intimated  that  I  would  like  to 
see  the  result.  That  piece  of  silver  I  reckon  was  worth 
about  five  shillings,  but  presently  my  master  of  transport 
and  one  of  the  muleteers  came  staggering  in  and  laid  before 
me  rows  and  rows  of  cash  strung  on  strings  !  I  never  felt 
so  wealthy  in  my  life.  After  that  I  never  asked  for  my 
change.  I  was  content  to  keep  a  sort  of  general  eye  on  the 
expenditm'c,  and  I  expect  the  only  leakage  was  the  accepted 
percentage  which  every  servant  levies  on  his  master.  When 
they  might  easily  have  cheated  me,  I  foimd  my  servants 
showed  always  a  most  praiseworthy  desire  for  my  welfare. 
And  yet  Mr  Wang  did  surprise  me  occasionally.  While  I 
was  in  Pao  Ting  Fu  I  had  found  it  useful  to  learn  to  count 
in  Chinese,  so  that  roughly  I  knew  what  people  at  the  food- 
stalls  were  charging  me.  On  one  occasion  I  saw  some  little 
cakes  powdered  with  sesame  seed  that  I  thought  I  should 
like  and  I  instructed  Mr  Wang  to  buy  me  one.  I  heard  him 
ask  the  price  and  the  man  say  tliree  cash,  and  my  interpreter 
turned  to  me  and  said  that  it  was  four  !  I  was  so  sm'prised 
I  said  nothing.  It  may  have  been  the  regulation  percentage, 
and  twenty -five  per  cent  is  good  anywhere,  but  at  the  moment 
it  seemed  to  me  extraordinary  that  a  man  who  considered 
himself  as  belonging  to  the  upper  classes  should  find  it 
worth  his  while  to  do  me  out  of  one  cash,  which  was  worth — 


86  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

no,  I  give  it  up.  I  don't  know  what  it  was  worth.  10.53 
dollars  went  to  the  pound  when  I  was  in  Shansi  and  about 
thirteen  hundred  cash  to  the  dollar,  so  I  leave  it  to  some 
better  mathematician  than  I  am  to  say  what  I  was  done 
out  of  on  that  occasion. 

There  was  another  person  who  was  very  pleased  with  the 
litter  and  that  was  James  Buchanan.  Poor  little  man, 
just  before  we  left  the  Flower  Garden  he  was  badly  bitten 
by  a  dog,  so  badly  he  could  no  longer  walk,  and  I  had  to 
carry  him  on  a  cushion  alongside  me  in  the  litter.  I  never 
knew  before  how  dearly  one  could  love  a  dog,  for  I  was 
terrified  lest  he  should  die  and  I  should  be  alone  in  the  world. 
He  lay  still  and  refused  to  eat,  and  every  movement  seemed 
to  pain  him,  and  whenever  I  struck  a  missionary — they  were 
the  only  people,  of  course,  with  whom  I  could  converse — 
they  always  suggested  his  back  was  broken. 

I  remember  at  Ki  Hsien,  where  I  was  entertained  most 
hospitably,  and  where  the  missionary's  wife  was  most 
sympathetic,  he  was  so  ill  that  I  sat  up  all  night  with  him 
and  thought  he  would  surely  die.  And  yet  in  the  morning 
he  was  still  alive.  He  moaned  when  we  lifted  him  into  the 
litter  and  whined  pitifully  when  I  got  out,  as  I  had  to  several 
times  to  take  photographs. 

"  Don't  leave  me,  don't  leave  me  to  the  mercy  of  the 
Chinese,"  he  said,  and  greeted  me  with  howls  of  joy  when  I 
retiu*ned.  It  was  a  great  day  for  both  of  us  when  he  got  a 
little  better  and  could  put  his  pretty  little  black  and  white 
head  round  the  tilt  and  keep  his  eye  upon  me  while  I  worked. 
But  really  he  was  an  ideal  patient,  such  a  good,  patient 
little  dog,  so  grateful  for  any  attention  that  was  paid  him, 
and  from  that  time  he  began  to  mend  and  by  the  time  I 
reached  Fen  Chou  Fu  was  almost  his  old  gay  happy  little 
self  again. 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  37 

Taiku  is  a  dying  town  over  two  thousand  years  old, 
and  I  have  before  seen  dead  towns  in  China.  Fewer 
and  fewer  grow  the  inhabitants,  the  grass  grows  in  the 
streets,  the  bricks  fall  away  from  the  walls,  the  houses 
fall  down,  until  but  a  few  shepherds  or  peasant  farmers 
dwell  where  once  were  the  busy  haunts  of  merchants  and 
tradesmen. 

From  Taiku  I  went  on  across  the  rich  Shansi  plain.  Now 
in  the  springtime  in  the  golden  sunshine  the  wheat  was  just 
above  the  gi-ound,  turning  the  land  into  one  vivid  green, 
the  sky  was  a  cloudless  blue,  and  all  was  bathed  in  the  golden 
sunshine  of  Northern  China.  The  air  was  clear  and  invigor- 
ating as  champagne.  "  Every  prospect  pleases,"  as  the 
hxTun  says,  "  and  only  man  is  vile."  He  wasn't  vile ; 
really  I  think  he  was  a  very  good  fellow  in  his  o\^^l  way, 
which  was  in  a  dimension  into  which  I  have  never  and  am 
never  likely  to  enter,  but  he  was  certainly  unclean,  ignorant, 
a  serf,  poverty-stricken  with  a  poverty  we  hardly  conceive 
of  in  the  West,  and  the  farther  away  I  found  myself  from 
T'ai  Yuan  Fu  the  more  friendly  did  I  find  him.  This  country 
was  not  like  England,  where  until  the  last  four  years  has 
been  in  the  memory  of  our  fathers  and  our  fathers'  fathers 
only  peace.  Even  now,  now  as  I  \vrite,  when  the  World  War 
is  on,  an  air  raid  is  the  worst  that  has  befallen  the  home- 
staying  citizens  of  Britain.  But  Shansi  has  been  raided 
again  and  again.  Still  the  land  was  tilled,  well  tilled  ;  on 
every  hand  were  men  working  hard,  working  from  dawn  to 
dark,  and  working,  to  a  stranger's  eyes,  for  the  good  of  the 
eonmnmity,  for  the  fields  are  not  divided  by  hedge  or  fence ; 
there  is  an  occasional  poplar  or  elm,  and  there  are  graves 
everywhere,  but  there  is  nothing  to  show  where  Wang's 
land  ends  and  Lui's  begins.  All  through  the  cultivated 
land  wanders,  apparently  without  object,  the  zigzag  track 


38  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

of  sand  and  ruts  and  stones  kno\\Ti  as  the  Great  South  Road, 
impossible  for  anytliing  with  wheels  but  a  Chinese  cart,  and 
often  impossible  for  that.  There  are  no  wayside  cottages, 
nothing  save  those  few  trees  to  break  the  monoton3%  only 
here  and  there  is  a  village  sheltering  behind  Iiigh  walls, 
sometimes  of  mud,  but  generally  of  brick,  and  stout,  sub- 
stantial brick  at  that ;  and  if,  as  is  not  infrequent,  there  is 
a  farmhouse  alone,  it,  too,  is  behind  high  brick  walls,  built 
like  a  baronial  castle  of  mediaeval  times,  with  a  look-out  tower 
and  room  behind  the  walls  not  only  for  the  owner's  family 
even  unto  the  third  and  fourth  generation,  but  for  all  his 
hinds  and  his  dependents  as  well.  The  whole  is  built 
evidently  with  a  view  to  defence,  and  built  apparently  to 
last  for  hundreds  of  years.  For  Shansi  is  worth  raiding. 
There  is  oil  and  there  is  wheat  in  abundance.  There  is  money 
too,  much  of  which  comes  from  Mongolia  and  Manchuria. 
The  bankers  (the  Shansi  men  are  called  the  Jews  of  China) 
wander  across  and  trade  far  into  Russian  territory  while 
still  their  home  is  in  agricultural  Shansi,  and  certain  it  is 
that  any  disturbances  in  these  countries,  even  in  Russia, 
affect  the  prosperity  of  Shansi.  I  wonder  if  the  Russian 
Revolution  has  been  felt  there.    Very  probably. 

Shansi  is  rich  in  other  things  too  not  as  yet  appreciated 
by  the  Chinaman.  She  has  iron  and  copper  and  coal  that 
has  barely  been  touched,  for  the  popular  feeling  is  against 
mining.  They  say  that  no  part  of  the  globe  contains  such 
stores  of  coal.  I  hesitate  about  quoting  a  Gterman,  but  they 
told  me  that  Baron  Reichthoffen  has  said  that  this  province 
has  enough  coal  to  supply  the  world  for  two  thousand  years 
at  the  present  rate  of  consumption.  I  haven't  the  faintest 
notion  whether  the  Baron's  opinion  is  worth  anything,  but 
if  it  is,  it  is  no  wonder  that  Germany,  with  her  eye  for  ever 
on  the  main  chance,  has  felt  deeply  being  thrust  out  of  China. 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  39 

With  ample  coal,  and  with  iron  alongside  it,  what  might 
not  Shansi  be  worth  to  exploit ! 

Ki  Hsien  is  a  little  walled  towm  five  li  round.  Roughly 
three  li  make  a  mile,  but  it  is  a  little  doubtful.  For  instance, 
from  Taiku  to  Ki  Hsien  is  fifty  li,  and  that  fifty  li  is  sixteen 
miles,  from  Ki  Hsien  to  Ping  Yao  is  also  fifty  li,  but  that 
is  only  fourteen  English  miles.  The  land,  say  the  Chinese, 
explaining  this  discrepancy,  was  measured  in  time  of  famine 
when  it  wasn't  of  any  value  !    A  very  Chinese  explanation. 

The  city  of  Ki  Hsien  is  very,  very  crowded  ;  there  were 
hundreds  of  tiny  courtyards  and  flat  roofs.  In  the  picture 
of  the  missionary's  house  I  have  not  been  able  to  get  the 
roof  in  because  the  courtyard — and  it  was  a  fairly  large 
courtyard  as  courtyards  in  the  city  go — was  not  big  enough. 
I  stood  as  far  away  as  I  possibly  could.  Mr  and  Mrs  Falls 
belonged  to  the  Chinese  Inland  Mission  and  the  house  they 
lived  in  was  over  three  hundred  years  old.  Like  many  of 
the  houses  in  Shansi,  it  was  two  storeys  high  and,  strangely 
enough,  a  thing  I  have  never  seen  anywhere  else,  the  floors 
upstairs  were  of  brick. 

I  do  not  know  how  I  would  like  to  live  in  such  a  crowded 
community,  but  it  has  its  advantages  on  occasion.  At  the 
time  of  the  revolution,  when  those  missionaries  who  had 
come  through  the  Boxer  times  were  all  troubled  and  anxious 
about  their  future,  the  Falls  decided  to  stay  on  at  their 
station,  and  a  rich  native  doctor,  a  heathen,  but  a  friend, 
who  lived  next  door,  commended  that  decision. 

"  Why  go  away  ?  "  said  he.  "  Your  courtyard  adjoins 
mine.  If  there  is  trouble  we  put  up  a  ladder  and  you  come 
over  to  us." 

And  there  was  hint  of  trouble  then.  As  we  sat  at  supper 
there  came  in  the  Chinese  postman  in  his  shabby  uniform  of 
dirty  blue  and  white,  with  his  large  military  cap  pushed  on 


40  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

the  back  of  his  head,  and  he  brought  to  the  Falls  a  letter 
from  Dr  Edwards,  the  missionary  doctor  all  foreign  T'ai 
Yuan  Fu  thought  I  ought  to  meet. 

WTien  I  was  within  reach  of  the  Peking  foreign  daily 
papers  they  mentioned  Pai  Lang  as  one  might  mention  a 
burglar  in  London,  sandwiching  him  in  between  the  last 
racing  fixtures  or  the  latest  Cinema  attraction,  but  from  a 
little  walled  town  within  a  day's  march  of  Hsi  An  Fu  the 
veteran  missionary  wrote  very  differently,  and  we  in  this 
other  little  walled  town  read  breathlessly. 

White  Wolf  had  surrounded  Hsi  An  Fu,  he  said ;  it  was 
impossible  to  get  there  and  he  was  returning. 

The  darkness  had  fallen,  the  lamp  in  the  middle  of  the  table 
thiew  a  light  on  the  letter  and  on  the  faces  of  the  middle- 
aged  missionary  and  his  wife  who  pored  over  it.  It  might 
mean  so  much  to  them.  It  undoubtedly  meant  much  to 
their  friends  in  Hsi  An  Fu,  and  it  meant  much  to  me,  the 
outsider  who  had  but  an  hour  ago  walked  into  their  lives. 
For  I  began  to  fear  lest  this  robber  might  affect  me  after 
all,  lest  in  coming  north  I  was  not  going  to  outflank  him. 
According  to  Dr  Edwards,  he  had  already  taken  a  little 
walled  city  a  himdred  li — about  a  day's  journey — north-west 
of  Hsi  An  Fu,  and  when  White  Wolf  took  a  tOAvn  it  meant 
murder  and  rapine.  And  sitting  there  in  the  old  Chinese 
room  these  two  people  who  knew  China  told  me  in  no 
measured  terms  what  might  happen  to  a  woman  travelling 
alone  in  disturbed  country. 

Missionaries,  they  said,  never  left  their  stations  when 
the  coimtry  was  disturbed,  they  were  safer  at  home,  sur- 
rounded by  their  friends.  Once  the  country  is  raided  by  a 
robber  band — and  remember  this  is  no  uncommon  thing  in 
China — all  the  bad  characters  in  the  country  come  to  the  fore, 
and  robber  bands  that  have  nothing  to  do  "vvitli  the  original 


.^. 


HEAPS  OF  STONES  ON  THE  WALLS  FEN   CHOU  FU. 


RUBBISH   HEAPS  OF  CENTURIES   OUTSIDE   I  EN  CHOU  FU. 
Sec  fagt'   $6. 


I 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  41 

one  spring  into  existence,  the  cities  shut  their  gates  to  all 
strangers,  and  passports  are  so  much  waste  paper.  Between 
ourselves,  I  have  a  feeling  they  always  are  in  China.  I 
could  hardly  tell  the  difference  between  mine  and  my  agree- 
ment with  my  muleteers,  and  I  have  an  uneasy  feeling  that 
occasionally  the  agreement  was  presented  when  it  should 
have  been  the  passport. 

Now  no  one  could  be  certain  whether  Pai  Lang  intended 
to  take  Lan  Chou  Fu,  but  it  looked  as  if  that  were  his  objec- 
tive. K  he  took  the  city  it  would  not  be  much  good  my 
getting  there,  because  the  bankers  would  certainly  not  be 
able  to  supply  me  with  money ;  even  if  he  only  raided  the 
country  round,  it  would  be  so  disturbed  that  my  muleteers 
would  be  bound  to  take  alarm.  If  they  left  me,  and  they 
certainly  would  leave  me  if  they  thought  there  was  a  chance 
of  their  mules  being  taken,  I  should  be  done.  It  would 
spell  finish  not  only  to  the  expedition  but  to  my  life.  A 
foreigner,  especially  a  woman  without  money  and  without 
friends,  would  be  helpless  in  China.  Why  should  the  people 
help  her  ?  It  takes  them  all  they  know  to  keep  their  own 
heads  above  water.  And  Kansu  was  always  turbulent ;  it 
only  wanted  a  match  to  set  the  fire  alight.  Mr  and  Mrs 
Falls — bless  them  for  their  kindness  and  interest ! — thought 
I  should  be  mad  to  venture. 

So  there  in  the  sitting-room  which  had  been  planned  for 
a  merchant  prince  and  had  come  into  the  possession  of  these 
two  who  desired  to  bring  the  religion  of  the  West  to  China 
I  sat  and  discussed  this  new  obstacle.  After  coming  so  far, 
laying  out  so  much  money,  could  I  turn  back  when  danger 
did  not  directly  press  ?  I  felt  I  could  not.  And  yet  my 
hosts  pointed  out  to  me  that  if  danger  did  directly  threaten 
I  would  not  be  able  to  get  away.  If  Pai  Lang  did  take 
Lan  Chou  Fu,  or  even  if  he  did  not,  it  might  well  be  worth 


42  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

his  while  to  turn  east  and  raid  fertile  Shansi.  In  a  little 
town  like  Ki  Hsien  there  was  loot  well  worth  having.  In 
the  revolution  a  banker  there  was  held  to  ransom,  and  paid, 
as  the  people  put  it,  thirty  times  ten  thousand  taels  (a  tael 
is  roughly  three  shillings,  according  to  the  price  of  silver), 
and  they  said  it  was  but  a  trifle  to  him — a  flea-bite,  I  believe, 
was  the  exact  term — and  I  can  well  believe,  in  the  multitude 
of  worse  parasites  that  afflict  the  average  Chinaman,  a  flea- 
bite  means  much  less  than  it  does  in  England. 

However,  I  didn't  feel  like  giving  up  just  yet,  so  I  decided 
to  go  on  to  Fen  Chou  Fu,  where  was  a  big  American  mission, 
and  see  what  they  had  to  say  about  the  matter.  If  then  I 
had  to  flee,  the  missionaries  would  very  likely  be  fleeing  too, 
and  I  should  have  company. 

And  the  very  next  day  I  had  what  I  took  for  a  warning. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  day,  a  cloudless  blue  sky  and  brilliant 
sunshine,  and  I  passed  too  many  things  of  interest  worth 
photographing.  There  were  some  extraordinary  tombs, 
there  was  a  quaint  village  gateway — ^the  Gate  of  Everlasting 
Peace  they  call  it — but  I  was  glad  to  get  back  into  my 
litter  and  hoped  to  stay  there  for  a  little,  for  getting  out  of  a 
litter  presents  some  difficulties  unless  you  are  very  active 
indeed.  It  is  a  good  long  drop  across  the  shafts  on  to  the 
ground  ;  the  only  other  alternative  is  to  drop  down  behind 
the  mule's  hind  quarters  and  slip  out  under  those  shafts,  but 
I  never  had  sufficient  confidence  in  my  mule  to  do  that,  so 
that  I  generally  called  upon  Tsai  Chih  Fu  to  lift  me  down. 
I  had  set  out  full  of  tremors,  but  taking  photographs  of  the 
peaceful  scenes  soothed  my  ruffled  nerves.  I  persuaded  my- 
self my  fears  had  been  born  of  the  night  and  the  dread  of 
loneliness  which  sometimes  overtakes  me  when  I  am  in 
company  and  thinking  of  setting  out  alone,  leaving  kindly 
faces  behind. 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  43 

And  then  I  came  upon  it,  the  first  sign  of  unrest. 

The  winding  road  rose  a  little  and  I  could  see  right  ahead 
of  us  a  great  crowd  of  people  evidently  much  agitated,  and 
I  called  to  Mr  Wang  to  know  what  was  the  matter. 

"  Repeat,  please,"  said  he  as  usual,  and  then  rode  forward 
and  came  back  saying,  "  I  do  not  know  the  word." 

^-  What  word  ?  " 

"  What  is  a  lot  of  people  and  a  dead  man  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  I,  jumping  to  conclusions  unwarrantably, 
"  that  is  a  funeral." 

"  A  funeral !  "  said  he  triumphantly.  "  I  have  learned  a 
new  word." 

Mr  Wang  was  always  learning  a  new  word  and  rejoicing 
over  it,  but,  as  I  had  hired  him  as  a  finished  product,  I  hardly 
think  it  was  unreasonable  of  me  to  be  aggrieved,  and  to 
feel  that  I  was  paying  him  a  salary  for  the  pleasure  of 
teaching  him  English.  However,  on  this  occasion  his 
triumph  was  short-lived. 

"  W^ould  you  like  to  see  the  funeral  ?  "  he  said. 

I  intimated  that  I  would.  My  stalwart  master  of  trans- 
port lifted  me  down  and  the  crowded  people  made  a  lane 
for  me  to  pass  through,  and  half  of  them  turned  their  atten- 
tion to  me,  for  though  there  were  missionaries  in  the  big 
towns,  a  foreigner  was  a  sight  to  these  country  people,  and, 
Mr  Wang  going  first,  we  arrived  at  a  man  with  his  head 
cut  off !  Mercifully  he  was  mixed  up  with  a  good  deal  of 
matting  and  planks,  but  still  there  was  no  mistaking  the  poor 
dead  feet  in  their  worn  Chinese  shoes  turned  up  to  the  sky. 

Considering  we  are  mortal,  it  is  extraordinary  how  seldom 
the  ordinary  person  looks  upon  death.  Always  it  comes 
^vith  a  shock.  At  least  it  did.  I  suppose  this  war  has 
accustomed  some  of  us  to  the  sight,  so  that  we  take  the 
result  of  the  meeting  of  mortal  man  with  his  last  friend  on 


44  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

earth  more  as  a  matter  of  course,  as  indeed  it  should  be 
taken.  Of  course  I  know  this  is  one  of  the  results  of  the 
war. 

My  sister's  son,  staying  with  me  after  six  months  in 
hospital,  consequent  upon  a  wound  at  Gallipoli,  came  home 
from  a  stroll  one  day  and  reported  that  he  had  seen  nothing, 
and  then  at  dinner  that  night  mentioned  in  a  casual  manner 
that  he  had  seen  two  dead  men  being  carried  out  of  a  large 
building  and  put  in  a  motor  car. 

I  said  in  astonishment : 

"  They  couldn't  have  been  dead  !  " 

"  Of  course  they  were.  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  dead 
men  when  I  see  them  ?    I've  seen  plenty." 

So  many  that  the  sight  of  a  couple  in  the  streets  of  a 
quiet  little  country  town  seemed  not  even  an  occasion  for 
remark. 

But  I  was  not  even  accustomed  to  thinking  of  dead  men 
and  I  turned  upon  Mr  Wang  angrily : 

"But  that  isn't  a  funeral.  That's  a  corpse,"  and  once 
more  to  my  irritation  he  rejoiced  over  a  new  word. 

"  Who  killed  him  ?  "  I  asked. 

"  They  think  an  enemy  has  done  this  thing,"  said  he 
sententiously  and  unnecessarily,  as,  ignorant  as  I  am  of 
things  Chinese,  I  should  hardly  think  even  they  could  have 
called  it  a  friendly  action.  The  body  had  been  found  the 
day  before,  and  the  people  were  much  troubled  about 
it.  An  official  from  Ping  Yow — a  coroner,  I  suppose  we 
should  call  him — was  coming  out  to  inquire  about  it,  and 
because  the  sun  was  already  hot  the  people  had  raised  a 
little  screen  of  matting  with  a  table  and  chairs  where  he 
could  sit  to  hold  inquiry. 

And  here  was  the  thing  the  missionaries  had  warned  me 
against.    Trouble,  said  tliey,  always  begins  by  the  finding 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  45 

of  dead  bodies  that  cannot  be  accounted  for,  and  this  body 
was  on  the  Great  South  Road.  It  might  be  only  a  case 
of  common  murder  such  as  one  might  perchance  meet  in 
Piccadilly,  possibly  it  was  due  to  the  bands  of  soldiers  that 
were  pouring  into  the  country — ^to  defend  the  crossings  of 
the  Yellow  River,  some  people  said — but  it  was  to  me  an 
emphatic  reminder  that  the  warnings  of  Mr  and  Mrs  Falls 
had  not  been  given  lightly,  and  I  meditated  upon  it  all  the 
way  to  Ping  Yow. 

All  day  long  the  soldiers  had  been  pouring  through  Ki 
Hsien,  all  night  long  they  poured  through  the  suburbs  of 
Ping  Yow.  Not  through  the  to\Mi  itself — the  townspeople 
were  not  going  to  allow  that  if  they  could  help  themselves ; 
and  as  it  was  evidently  a  forced  march  and  the  regiments 
were  travelling  by  night,  they  could  help  themselves,  for 
every  city  gate  is  shut  at  sundo\vn.  The  China  Inland 
Mission  had  a  station  at  an  old  camel  inn  in  the  eastern 
suburb,  and  there  the  missionary's  young  wife  was  alone  with 
five  young  children,  babies  all  of  them,  and  there  I  found 
her.  I  think  she  was  very  glad  to  see  me,  anyhow  I  was 
someone  to  discuss  things  with,  and  we  two  women  talked 
and  talked  over  our  evening  meal.  She  was  a  tall,  pretty 
young  woman — not  even  the  ugly  Chinese  dress  and  her  hair 
drawn  back,  not  a  hair  out  of  place,  Chinese  fashion,  could 
disguise  her  pathetic  beauty.  And  she  was  a  coimtry\voman 
of  mine,  born  and  brought  up  in  the  same  state,  Victoria, 
and  her  native  town  was  Ararat,  green  and  fresh  among  the 
hills.  And  how  she  talked  Australia !  What  a  beautiful 
land  it  was !  And  the  people !  The  free,  independent 
people  !  The  women  who  walked  easily  and  feared  no  man  ! 
To  thoroughly  appreciate  a  democratic  country  you  should 
dwell  in  effete  China.  But  she  feared  too,  this  woman, 
feared  for  herself  and  her  five  tiny  children.    It  would  be 


46  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

no  easy  job  to  get  away.    I  told  her  of  the  dead  man  I  had 
seen — how  should  I  not  tell  her  ? — ^and  she  trembled. 

"  Very  likely  it  is  the  soldiei-s,"  she  said.  "  I  am  afraid  of 
the  Chinese  soldiers."  And  so  am  I  in  bulk,  though  taken 
singly  they  seem  such  harmless  little  chaps. 

"  When  the  willow  is  green  and  the  apricot  yellow  in  the 
fifth  moon,"  said  a  metrical  inscription  on  a  stone  dug  up  at 
Nankin  in  tliat  year — the  fatal  year  191  J; — "  terrible  things 
will  happen  in  the  land  of  Han."  Terrible  things,  it  seems 
to  me,  always  happen  in  the  land  of  Han  ;  but  if  it  spoke 
for  the  great  world  beyond,  truly  the  stone  spoke  truth, 
though  we  did  not  know  it  then. 

In  the  evening  back  from  the  country  where  he  had  been 
preaching  for  the  last  day  or  two  came  my  Australian's 
husband,  and  there  also  came  in  to  see  the  stranger  two 
missionaries  from  the  other  side  of  the  town.  They  sat 
there,  these  men  and  women  of  British  race,  dressed  in  the 
outlandish  costume  of  the  people  around  them — a  foolish 
fashion,  it  seems  to  me,  for  a  European  in  unadulterated 
Chinese  dress  looks  as  ugly  and  out  of  place  as  a  Chinese  in 
a  stiff  collar  and  a  bowler  hat.  And  all  the  evening  we 
discussed  the  soldiers  and  the  dead  man  I  had  seen,  and 
opinions  differed  as  to  the  portent. 

It  is  true,  said  one  of  them  who  had  been  in  the  country 
many  years,  and  was  a  missionary  pure  and  simple,  with 
eyes  for  notliing  but  the  work  he  had  in  hand — which  is 
probably  the  way  to  work  for  success — that  a  dead  body, 
particularly  a  dead  body  by  the  higiu'oad,  is  often  a  sign 
of  um*est,  but  again,  quite  as  often  it  means  no  more  than 
a  dead  body  in  any  other  place.  If  he  had  turned  back  for 
every  dead  body  he  had  seen 

Well,  I  thought  I  would  not  turn  back  either.  Not  yet, 
at  least. 


THE  FIRST  SIGN  OF  UNREST  47 

Never  was  I  sorrier  for  missionaries,  I  who  have  always 
written  against  missionaries,  tlian  I  was  for  tliis  young 
countrywoman  of  mine  who  never  thought  of  being  sorry 
for  herself.  It  was  a  big  ugly  mission  compomid,  the  rooms, 
opening  one  into  another,  were  plain  and  undecorated,  and 
the  little  children  as  a  great  treat  watered  the  flowers  that 
struggled  up  among  the  stones  of  the  dusty  courtyard,  and 
the  very  watering-can  was  made  with  Chinese  ingenuity 
from  an  old  kerosene  tin.  It  seemed  to  me  those  little 
children  would  have  had  such  a  much  better  chance  gi'o\\ing 
up  in  their  mother's  land,  or  in  their  father's  land — he  was 
a  Canadian — among  the  free  peoples  of  the  earth.  But  who 
am  I,  to  judge  ?  No  one  in  the  world,  it  seems  to  me,  wants 
help  so  much  as  the  poorer  Chinese,  whose  Ufe  is  one  long 
battle  with  disease  and  poverty ;  and  perhaps  these  poorer 
missionaries  help  a  little,  a  very  little ;  but  the  poorer  the 
mission  the  poorer  the  class  they  reach,  and  the  sacrifice, 
as  I  saw  it  here,  is  so  great. 

Next  morning  we  arose  early,  and  I  breakfasted  with  my 
host  and  hostess  and  their  five  children.  The  children's 
grace  rings  in  my  ears  yet,  always  I  tliink  it  will  ring  there, 
the  cliildish  voices  sung  it  with  such  fervour  and  such  faith : 

"Every  day,  every  day,  we  bless  Thee,  we  bless  Thee, 
We  praise  Thy  Name,  we  praise  Thy  Name, 
For  ever  and  for  ever  ! " 

There  in  the  heart  of  China  these  little  children,  who  had, 
it  seemed  to  me,  so  very  little  to  be  grateful  for,  thanked 
their  God  with  all  their  hearts,  and  when  their  elders  with 
the  same  simple  fervour  went  dovMi  on  their  knees  and  asked 
their  God  to  guide  and  help  the  stranger  and  set  her  on  her 
way,  though  it  was  against  all  my  received  canons  of  good 
taste,  what  could  I  do  but  be  simply  grateful. 

Ping  Yow  is  a  large  town  set  in  the  midst  of  a  wheat- 


48  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

growing  countty,  and  it  is  built  in  the  shape  of  a  turtle, 
at  least  so  I  was  told.  I  could  see  for  myself  that  its  walls 
were  not  the  usual  four-square  set  to  the  points  of  the 
compass,  but  seemed  irregular,  with  many  little  towers  upon 
them.  These  towers,  it  seems,  were  built  in  memory  of  the 
teachers  of  Confucius — ^this  is  the  only  intimation  I  have  had 
tliat  he  had  seventy-two  ;  and  there  were  over  three  thousand 
small  excrescences — ^again  I  only  repeat  what  I  was  told  ;  I 
did  not  count  them,  and  if  I  had  I  would  surely  have 
counted  them  wrong — like  sentry-boxes  in  memory  of  his 
disciples.  I  do  not  know  why  Ping  Yow  thus  dedicates 
itself  to  the  memory  of  the  great  sage.  It  needs  something 
to  commend  it,  for  it  remains  in  my  mind  as  a  bare,  ugly, 
crowded  town,  with  an  extra  amount  of  dust  and  dirt  and 
heat,  and  no  green  thing  to  break  the  monotony. 
And  I  set  forth,  and  in  spite  of  all  I  still  faced  West. 


MISSIONARY'S  TEACHER  AND   PRIEST. 

See  page   57. 


LADIES  OF  EASY  VIRTUE  IN   THE  TAOIST  TEMPLE. 
See  page   57. 


AUTHOR'S  LITTER  NEAR  PAGODA  ON   THE  WAYSIDE. 

See  page   57. 


FARMER  PLOUGHING  AND  SMALL   PAGODA  FEN   CHOU  FU. 

See  page   57. 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS 

In  my  wanderings  across  Shansi  I  came  in  contact  with 
two  missionary  systems  run  wdth  the  same  object  in  view 
but  carried  out  in  diametrically  opposite  ways.  Of  course 
I  speak  as  an  outsider.  I  criticise  as  one  who  only  looks  on, 
but  after  all  it  is  an  old  saw  that  the  onlooker  sees  most  of 
the  game.  There  are,  of  course,  many  missions  in  China, 
and  I  often  feel  that  if  the  Chinaman  were  not  by  nature 
a  philosopher  he  would  sometimes  be  a  little  confused  by 
salvation  offered  him  by  foreigners  of  all  sects  and  classes, 
ranging  from  Roman  Catholics  to  Seventh  Day  Adventists. 
Personally  I  have  received  much  kindness  from  English 
Baptists,  from  the  China  Inland  Mission  and  from  American 
Presb}i;erians  and  Congregationalists.  Amongst  them  all  I — 
who  frankly  do  not  believe  in  missions,  believing  that  the 
children  at  home  should  first  be  fed — found  much  to  admire, 
much  individual  courage  and  sacrifice,  but  for  the  systems, 
I  felt  the  American  missions  were  the  most  efficient,  far  the 
most  likely  to  attain  the  end  in  view. 

The  Chinaman,  to  begin  with,  sees  no  necessity  for  his 
own  conversion.  Unlike  the  ordinary  black  man,  he  neither 
admires  nor  en^des  the  white  man,  and  is  given  to  thinking 
his  own  ways  are  infinitely  preferable.  But  the  Chinaman 
is  a  man  of  sound  common-sense,  he  immensely  admires 
efficiency,  he  is  a  great  believer  in  education,  and  when  a 
mission  comes  to  him  fully  equipped  with  doctors,  nurses 
and  hospitals,  teachers  and  schools,  he,  once  he  has  over- 
D  49 


50  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

come  his  dread  of  anything  new,  begins  to  avail  himself 
first  of  the  doctor  and  the  hospital,  for  the  sore  need  of 
China  is  for  medical  attendance,  and  then  of  the  schools. 
Then  comes  conversion.  They  tell  me  that  there  are  many 
genuine  converts.  I  have  only  noticed  that  the  great  rich 
American  missions  rake  in  converts  by  tens  and  twenties, 
where  they  come  dribbling  in  in  units  to  the  faith  missions, 
which  offer  no  such  advantages  as  medical  attendance  or 
tuition.  The  faith  missionaries  work  hard  enough.  I  have 
seen  a  woman  just  come  in  from  a  week's  missionary  tour 
in  a  district  where,  she  explained,  she  had  slept  on  the 
k'angs  with  the  other  women  of  the  household,  and  she  was 
stripping  off  her  clothes  most  carefully  and  combing  her 
long  hair  with  a  tooth-comb,  because  all  women  of  the  class 
she  visited  among  were  afflicted  with  those  little  parasites 
that  we  do  not  mention.  The  Chinese  have  a  proverb  that 
"the  Empress  herself  has  three,"  so  it  is  no  sliame.  She 
thought  nothing  of  her  sacrifice,  that  was  what  she  had 
come  for,  everyone  else  was  prepared  to  do  the  same ;  but 
when  so  much  is  given  I  like  to  see  great  results,  as  in  the 
American  missions.  They  are  rich,  and  the  Chinaman,  with 
a  few  glaring  exceptions,  is  a  very  practical  person.  To  ask 
him  to  change  his  faith  for  good  that  will  work  out  in  another 
world  is  asking  rather  much  of  him.  If  he  is  going  to  do  so 
he  feels  he  may  as  well  have  a  God  who  will  give  him  some- 
thing in  return  for  being  outcast.  At  least  that  is  the  way  I 
read  the  results.  Look  at  Fen  Chou,  for  instance,  where  the 
Americans  are  thriving  and  a  power  in  the  town,  and  look  at 
Yung  Ning  Chou,  farther  west,  where  a  Scandinavian  faith 
mission  has  been  established  for  over  twenty  years.  They 
may  have  a  few  adherents  in  the  country  round,  but  in  the 
city  itself — a  city  of  merchants — ^they  have,  I  believe,  not 
made  a  single  convert. 

Of  course  the  China  Inland  Mission  does  not  lay  itself 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  51 

out  to  be  rich.  However  many  subscriptions  come  in,  the 
individual  missionary  gets  no  more  than  fifty  pounds  a  year  ; 
if  more  money  comes,  more  missionaries  are  estabhshed,  if 
less,  then  the  luckless  individual  missionary  gets  as  much 
of  the  fifty  pounds  as  funds  allow.  The  Founder  of  the 
Faith  was  poor  and  lowly,  therefore  the  missionaries  must 
follow  in  His  footsteps.  I  understand  the  reason,  the  nobility, 
that  lies  in  the  sacrifice  implied  when  men  and  women  give 
their  lives  for  their  faith,  but  not  only  do  I  like  best  the 
results  of  the  American  system,  but  I  dislike  exceedingly 
that  a  European  should  be  poor  in  an  Oriental  country. 
If  missionaries  must  go  to  China,  I  like  them  to  go  for  the 
benefit  of  the  Chinese  and  for  the  honour  and  glory  of  the 
race  to  which  they  belong,  and  not  for  the  good  of  their  own 
souls. 

I  came  into  Fen  Chou  Fu  and  went  straight  to  the  large 
compound  of  the  American  missionaries,  three  men  and 
three  women  from  Obcrlin  College,  Ohio.  They  had  a 
hospital,  they  had  a  school,  they  had  a  kindergarten,  the 
whole  compound  was  a  flourishing  centre  of  industry.  They 
teach  their  faith,  for  that  is  what  they  have  come  out  for, 
but  also  they  teacli  the  manifold  knowledge  of  the  West. 
Sanitation  and  hygiene  loom  large  in  their  curriculum,  and 
heaven  knows,  without  taking  into  consideration  any  future 
life,  they  must  be  a  blessing  to  those  men  and  women  who 
under  cruel  conditions  must  see  this  life  through.  These 
six  missionaries  at  Fen  Chou  Fu  do  their  best  to  improve 
those  conditions  with  a  practical  American  common- sense 
and  thoroughness  that  won  my  admiration. 

Fen  Chou  Fu,  unlike  T'ai  Yuan  Fu,  is  friendly,  and  has 
always  been  friendly,  to  the  foreigner  ;  even  during  the  Boxer 
trouble  they  were  loath  to  kill  their  missionaries,  and  when 
the  order  came  that  they  were  to  be  slain,  declined  to  allow 
it  to  be  done  witliin  their  walls,  but  sent  them  out,  and  they 


52  A  BROICEN  JOURNEY 

were  killed  about  seven  miles  outside  the  city — a  very  Chinese 
way  of  freeing  themselves  from  blood-guiltiness. 

The  town  struck  me  as  curiously  peaceful  after  the  unrest 
and  the  never-ending  talk  of  riot,  robbery  and  murder  I 
had  heard  all  along  the  road.  The  weather  was  getting  warm 
and  we  all  sat  at  supper  on  the  verandah  of  Dr  Watson's 
house,  with  the  lamps  shedding  a  subdued  light  on  the  table, 
and  the  sounds  of  the  city  coming  to  us  softened  by  the 
distance,  and  Mr  Watt  Pye  assured  me  he  had  been  out  in 
the  country  and  there  was  nothing  to  fear,  nothing.  The 
Chinaman  as  he  had  seen  him  had  many  sins,  at  least  errors 
of  conduct  that  a  missionary  counts  sin,  but  as  far  as  he  knew 
I  might  go  safely  to  the  Russian  border.  He  had  not  been 
in  the  country  very  long,  not,  I  fancy,  a  fifth  of  the  time  Dr 
Edwards  had  been  there,  but,  listening  to  him,  I  hoped  once 
more. 

The  town  is  old.  It  was  going  as  a  city  in  2205  B.C.,  and 
it  is  quite  unlike  any  other  I  have  come  across  in  China. 
It  is  a  small  square  city  about  nine  li  round,  and  on  each  of 
the  four  sides  are  suburbs,  also  walled.  Between  them  and 
the  city  are  the  gully-like  roads  leading  to  the  gates.  The 
eastern  suburb  is  nearly  twice  as  large  as  the  main  city,  and 
is  surrounded  by  a  high  brick  wall,  but  the  other  suburbs 
have  only  walls  like  huge  banks  of  clay,  on  the  top  the  grass 
grows,  and  on  my  way  in  I  was  not  surprised  to  see  on 
top  of  this  clay-bank  a  flock  of  sheep  browsing.  It 
seemed  a  very  appropriate  place  for  sheep,  for  at  first 
sight  there  is  nothing  to  show  that  this  was  the  top  of  a 
town  wall. 

When  the  Manchus  drove  out  the  Mings,  the  vanquished 
Imperial  family  took  refuge  in  this  western  to^\Ti  and  re- 
built the  walls,  which  had  been  allowed  to  fall  into  disrepair, 
and  they  set  about  the  job  in  a  fashion  worthy  of  Babylon 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  53 

itself.  The  bricks  were  made  seven  miles  away  in  the  hills, 
and  passed  from  hand  to  hand  do^^^l  a  long  line  of  men  till 
they  reached  their  destination  and  were  laid  one  on  top  of 
another  to  face  the  great  clay-bank  forty-six  feet  high  that 
guards  the  city.  According  to  Chinese  ideas,  the  city  needs 
guarding  not  from  human  enemies  only.  Tlie  mountains 
to  the  west  and  north  overshadow  it,  and  all  manner  of  evil 
influences  come  from  the  north,  and  the  people  fear  greatly 
their  effect  upon  the  town.  It  was  possible  it  might  never 
get  a  good  magistrate,  or  that,  having  got  one,  he  might 
die,  and  therefore  they  took  every  precaution  they  could  to 
ward  off  such  a  calamity.  Gods  they  put  in  their  watch 
tower  over  the  gate,  and  they  sit  there  still,  carved  wooden 
figures,  a  great  fat  god — if  a  city  is  to  be  prosperous  must  not 
its  god  be  prosperous  too  ? — surrounded  by  lesser  satellites. 
Some  are  fallen  now,  and  the  birds  of  the  air  roost  upon  them, 
and  the  dust  and  the  cobwebs  have  gathered  upon  them, 
but  not  yet  will  they  be  cleared  away.  In  a  chamber  below 
are  rusty  old-world  cannon  flung  aside  in  a  heap  as  so  much 
useless  lumber,  and,  below,  all  the  busy  traffic  of  the  city 
passes  in  and  out  beneath  the  arches  of  the  gateway.  In 
that  gateway  are  two  upright  stones  between  which  all 
wheeled  traffic  must  pass,  the  distance  between  these  stones 
marking  the  length  of  the  axle  allowed  by  the  narrow  city 
streets.  Any  vehicle  having  a  greater  length  of  axle  cannot 
pass  in.  No  mere  words  can  describe  the  awful  condition 
of  the  roads  of  Shansi,  and  to  lessen  as  far  as  possible  the 
chance  of  an  upset  the  country  man  makes  his  axle  very 
wide,  and,  knowing  this,  the  town  man  notifies  at  his  gates 
the  width  of  the  vehicle  that  can  pass  in  his  streets.  No 
other  can  enter. 

Besides  the  gods  over  the  gateway.  Fen  Chou  Fu,  owing  to 
its  peculiar  position  under  the  hills,  requires  other  guarding, 


54  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

and  there  are  two  tall  bronze  phcenixes  on  the  wall  close 
to  the  northern  watch  tower.  I  was  quite  pleased  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  a  phoenix,  as,  though  I  have  read  about 
them,  I  had  never  met  them  before.  In  Fen  Chou  Fu  it 
appears  that  a  phoenix  is  between  thirty  and  forty  feet  high, 
built  like  a  comic  representation  of  a  chicken,  with  a  long 
curly  neck  and  a  cock's  comb  upon  his  head.  It  would 
indeed  be  a  churlish,  evil  spirit  who  was  not  moved  to 
laughter  at  the  sight.  But  though  the  form  is  crude,  on 
the  bronze  bases  and  on  the  birds  themselves  are  worked 
beautifully  the  details  of  a  long  story.  Dragons  and  foxes 
and  rabbits,  and  many  strange  symbols  that  I  do  not  under- 
stand come  into  it,  but  how  they  help  to  guard  the  city, 
except  by  pleasing  the  gods  or  amusing  the  evil  spirits,  I 
must  confess  I  cannot  imagine.  Certainly  the  city  fathers 
omit  the  most  necessary  care  :  once  the  walls  are  finished,  the 
mason  is  apparently  never  called  in,  and  they  are  drifting  to 
decay.  Everywhere  the  bricks  are  falling  out,  and  when  I 
was  there  in  the  springtime  the  birds  of  the  air  found  there 
a  secure  resting-place.  There  were  crows  and  hawks  and 
magpies  and  whistling  kites  popping  in  and  out  of  the  holes 
so  made,  in  their  beaks  straws  and  twigs  for  the  making  of 
their  nests.  They  would  be  secure  pi*obably  in  any  case, 
for  the  Chinese  love  birds,  but  here  they  are  doubly  secure, 
for  only  with  difficulty  and  by  the  aid  of  a  long  rope  could 
any  man  possibly  reach  them. 

The  ramps  up  to  those  walls  were  extremely  steep — it  was 
a  heart-breaking  process  to  get  on  top — but  Buchanan  and  I, 
accompanied  by  the  master  of  transport  carrying  the  camera, 
and  often  by  Mr  Leete,  one  of  the  missionaries,  took  exercise 
there ;  for  in  a  walled  city  in  the  narrow  streets  there  is 
seldom  enough  air  for  my  taste.  The  climate  here  is  roughly 
summer  and  winter,  for  though  so  short  a  while  ago  it  had 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  55 

been  freezing  at  night,  already  it  was  very  hot  in  the  middle 
of  the  daj ,  and  the  dust  rose  up  from  the  narrow  streets  in 
clouds.  A  particularly  bad  cloud  of  dust  generally  indicated 
pigs,  which  travel  a  good  deal  in  Northern  China,  even  as 
sheep  and  cattle  do  in  Australia.  In  Shantung  a  man  sets 
out  with  a  herd  of  pigs  and  travels  them  slowly  west,  very 
slowly,  and  they  feed  along  the  wayside,  though  what  they 
feed  on  heaven  only  knows,  for  it  looks  to  me  as  though  there 
is  nothing,  still  possibly  they  pick  up  something,  and  I  suppose 
the  idea  is  that  they  arrive  at  the  various  places  in  time  for 
the  harvest,  or  when  grain  and  products  are  cheapest.  There 
are  inns  solely  given  over  to  pigs  and  their  drivers  in  Shansi, 
and  the  stench  outside  some  of  those  in  Fen  Chou  Fu  was  just 
a  little  taller  than  the  average  smell,  and  the  average  smell 
in  a  Chinese  city  is  something  to  be  always  remembered. 
There  were  other  things  to  be  seen  from  the  top  of  the  wall 
too — long  lines  of  camels  bearing  merchandise  to  and  from 
the  town,  donkeys,  mules,  carts,  all  churning  up  the  dust  of 
the  unkempt  roadway,  small-footed  women  seated  in  their 
doorways  looking  out  upon  the  life  of  the  streets,  riding 
donkeys  or  peeping  out  of  the  tilts  of  the  carts.  I  could 
see  into  the  courtj^ards  of  the  well-to-do,  with  their  little 
ponds  and  bridges  and  gardens.  All  the  life  of  the  city  lay 
beneath  us.  Possibly  that  is  why  one  meets  so  very,  very 
seldom  any  Chinese  on  the  wall — it  may  be,  it  probably  is, 
I  should  think,  bad  taste  to  look  into  your  neighbour's 
courtyard. 

And  the  wall  justified  its  existence,  mediaeval  and  out  of 
date  as  it  seemed  to  me.  There  along  the  top  at  intervals 
were  little  heaps  of  good-sized  stones,  placed  there  by  the 
magistrate  in  the  revolution  for  the  defence  of  the  town. 
At  first  I  smiled  and  thought  how  primeval,  but  looking 
down  into  the  road  nearly  fifty  feet  below,  I  realised  that  a 


56  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

big  stone  flung  by  a  good  hefty  fist  from  the  top  of  that  wall 
was  a  weapon  by  no  means  to  be  despised. 

But  walls,  if  often  a  protection,  are  sometimes  a  danger 
in  more  ways  than  in  shutting  out  the  fresh  air.  The  summer 
rains  in  North  China  are  heavy,  and  Fen  Chou  Fu  holds 
water  like  a  bucket.  The  only  outlets  are  the  narrow  gate- 
ways, and  the  waters  rise  and  rise.  A  short  time  before  I 
came  there  all  the  eastern  quarter  of  the  towTi  was  flooded 
so  deep  that  a  woman  was  drowned.  At  last  the  waters 
escaped  through  the  eastern  gate,  only  to  be  banked  up 
by  the  great  ash-heaps,  the  product  of  centuries,  the  waste 
rubbish  of  the  town,  that  are  just  outside  the  wall  of  the 
eastern  subm-b.  It  took  a  long,  long  while  for  those  flood 
waters  to  percolate  through  the  gateway  of  the  suburb  and 
find  a  resting-place  at  last  in  a  swamp  the  other  side  of  that 
long-suffering  town.  I  must  confess  tliat  this  is  one  of  the 
drawbacks  to  a  walled  town  that  has  never  before  occurred 
to  me,  though  to  stand  there  and  look  at  those  great 
gates,  those  solid  walls,  made  me  feel  as  if  I  had  somehow 
wandered  into  the  fourth  dimension,  so  out  of  my  world 
were  they. 

There  was  a  great  fair  in  a  Taoist  temple  and  one  day 
Mr  Leete  and  I,  with  his  teacher  and  my  servant,  attended. 
A  wonderful  thing  is  a  Chinese  fair  in  a  temple.  I  do  not 
yet  understand  the  exact  object  of  these  fairs,  though  I 
have  attended  a  good  many  of  them.  Whether  they  help 
the  funds  of  the  temple  as  a  bazaar  is  supposed  to  help  a 
church  in  this  country,  I  cannot  say.  A  temple  in  China 
usually  consists  of  a  set  of  buildings  often  in  different  court- 
yards behind  one  enclosing  wall,  and  these  buildings  are  not 
only  temples  to  the  gods,  but  living-rooms  which  are  often 
let  to  suitable  tenants,  and,  generally  speaking,  if  the  stranger 
knows  his  way  about — I  never  did — he  can  get  in  a  temple 


WELLS  IN  FEN   CHOU  FU. 

See  page   58. 


BRICKLAYER'S   LABOURERS. 
See  page   59. 


LITERARY  TOWER  ON   WALL   FEN   CHOU  FU. 


RUINS  OF  THE   YAMEN   FEN  CHOU   FU.  See  fage   59. 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  57 

accommodation  for  himself  and  his  servants,  far  superior 
accommodation  to  that  offered  in  the  inns.  It  costs  a  little 
more,  but  everything  is  so  cheap  that  makes  no  difference 
to  the  foreigner.  The  Taoist  temple  the  day  I  went  there 
was  simply  humming  with  life ;  there  were  stalls  every- 
where, and  crowds  of  people  buying,  selling  or  merely  gossip- 
ing and  looking  on.  I  took  a  picture  of  some  ladies  of  easy 
virtue  Avith  gay  dresses  and  gaily  painted  faces,  tottering 
about,  poor  things,  on  their  maimed  feet,  and  at  the  same 
spot,  close  against  the  altar  of  the  god,  I  took  a  picture  of  the 
priest.  With  much  hesitation  he  consented  to  stand.  He 
had  in  his  hand  some  fortune-telling  sticks,  but  did  not  dare 
hold  them  while  his  portrait  was  being  taken.  However, 
Mr  Leete's  teacher  was  a  bold,  brave,  enlightened  man — in 
a  foreign  helmet — and  he  held  the  sticks,  and  the  two  came 
out  in  the  picture  together.  I  trust  no  subsequent  harm 
came  to  the  daring  man. 

In  Fen  Chou  Fu  I  could  have  walked  about  the  town 
alone  unmolested.  I  never  did,  because  it  would  have  been 
undignified  and  often  awkward,  as  I  could  not  speak  the 
language,  but  the  people  were  invariably  friendly.  On  the 
whole,  there  was  not  very  much  to  see.  The  sun  poured 
down  day  after  day  in  a  cloudless  sky,  and  the  narrow  streets, 
faced  with  stalls  or  blank  grey  brick  walls  enclosing  the 
compounds,  were  dusty  and  uneven,  with  the  ruts  still  there 
that  had  been  made  when  the  ground  was  softened  by  the 
summer  rains  of  the  year  before.  Away  to  the  south-east 
was  a  great  pagoda,  the  second  tallest  in  China,  a  landmark 
that  can  be  seen  for  many  a  long  mile  across  the  plain. 
This,  like  the  phoenixes,  is  feng  shut.  I  have  never  grasped 
the  inwardness  of  pagodas,  which  are  dotted  in  apparently 
a  casual  manner  about  the  landscape.  An  immense  amount 
of  labour  must  have  been  expended  upon  them,  and  they 
do  not  appear  to  serve  any  useful  purpose.     This  one  at 


58  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

Fen  Chou  Fu  is  meant  to  balance  after  a  fashion  the  phoenixes 
on  the  northern  wall  and  afford  protection  for  the  southern 
approach  to  the  city.  I  don't  know  that  it  was  used  for 
any  other  purpose.  It  stood  there,  tall  and  commanding, 
dwarfing  everything  else  within  sight.  Neither  do  I  know 
the  purpose  of  the  literary  tower  which  stands  on  the  south- 
east corner  of  the  wall.  It  denotes  that  the  town  either  has 
or  hopes  to  have  a  literary  man  of  high  standing  among  its 
inhabitants.  But  to  look  for  the  use  in  all  things  Chinese 
would  be  foolish  ;  much  labour  is  expended  on  work  that  can 
be  only  for  artistic  purposes.  To  walk  through  a  Chinese 
town,  in  spite  of  filth,  in  spite  of  neglect  and  disrepair,  is  to 
feel  that  the  Chinaman  is  an  artist  to  his  finger-tips. 

The  gate  to  the  American  church  in  Fen  Chou  Fu,  for 
instance,  was  a  circle,  a  tiling  of  strange  beauty.  Imagine 
such  a  gate  in  an  English  town,  and  yet  here  it  seemed  quite 
natural  and  very  beautiful.  They  had  no  bell,  why  I  do 
not  know,  perhaps  because  every  temple  in  China  has  a  pleni- 
tude of  bells  hanging  from  its  eaves  and  making  the  air 
musical  when  the  faintest  breath  of  wind  stirs  and  mission- 
aries are  anxious  to  dissociate  themselves  in  every  way  from 
practices  they  call  idolatry,  even  when  those  practices  seem 
to  an  outsider  like  myself  rather  attractive.  At  any  rate,  to 
summon  the  faithful  to  church  a  man  beats  a  gong. 

But  there  is  one  institution  of  Fen  Chou  Fu  which  is 
decidedly  utilitarian,  and  that  is  the  wells  in  the  north- 
western corner.  A  Chinaman,  I  should  say,  certainly  uses 
on  the  average  less  water  than  the  majority  of  humanity ; 
a  bath  when  he  is  three  days  old,  a  bath  when  he  is  married, 
and  after  that  he  can  comfortably  last  till  he  is  dead,  is  the 
generally  received  idea  of  his  ablutions,  but  he  does  want 
a  little  water  to  carry  on  life,  and  in  this  corner  of  the  town 
are  situated  the  wells  which  supply  that  necessary.  It  is 
rather  brackish,  but  it  is  still  drinkable,  and  it  is  all  that 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  59 

the  city  gets.  They  were  a  never-ending  source  of  interest 
to  me.  They  were  estabHshed  in  those  far-away  days  before 
history  began — perhaps  the  presence  of  the  water  here  was 
the  reason  for  the  building  of  the  town — and  they  have  been 
here  ever  since.  The  mouths  are  builded  over  with  masonry, 
and  year  in  and  year  out  have  come  those  self-same  carts 
with  solid  wheels,  dra^vn  by  a  harnessed  ox  or  an  ox  and  a 
mule,  bearing  the  barrels  to  be  filled  mth  water.  Down 
through  all  the  ages  those  self-same  men,  dressed  in  blue 
cotton  that  has  worn  to  a  dingy  drab,  with  a  wisp  of  like 
stuff  tied  round  their  heads  to  protect  them  from  the  dust 
or  the  cold  or  the  sun,  liave  driven  those  oxen  and  drawn  that 
water.  Really  and  truly  our  own  water,  that  comes  to  us, 
hot  and  cold,  so  easily  by  the  turning  of  a  tap,  is  much  more 
wonderful  and  interesting,  but  that  I  take  as  a  matter  of 
course,  while  I  never  tired  of  watching  those  prehistoric 
carts.  It  was  in  rather  a  desolate  corner  of  the  town  too. 
The  high  walls  rose  up  and  frowned  upon  it,  the  inside  of 
the  walls  where  there  was  no  brick,  only  crumbling  clay  with 
shrubs  and  creepers  just  bursting  into  leaf  and  little  paths 
that  a  goat  or  an  active  boy  might  negotiate  meandering 
up  to  the  top.  And  to  get  to  that  part  I  had  to  pass  the 
ruins  of  the  old  yamen  razed  to  the  ground  when  the  Govern- 
ment repented  them  of  the  Boxer  atrocities,  and  razed  so 
effectually  that  only  the  tsvo  gate-posts,  fashioned  like  lions, 
Chinese  architectural  lions,  survive.  A  curse  is  on  the 
place,  the  people  say ;  anyhow  when  I  visited  it  fourteen 
years  later  no  effort  had  been  made  to  rebuild.  Not  for 
want  of  labour,  surely.  There  are  no  trade  unions  in  China, 
and  daily  from  dawn  to  dark  in  Fen  Chou  Fu  I  saw  the  brick- 
layers' labourers  trotting  along,  bringing  supplies  to  the  men 
who  were  building,  in  the  streets  I  met  men  carrying  water 
to  the  houses  in  buckets,  and  now  in  the  springtime  there 
was  a  never-ending  supply  of  small  boys,  clad  in  trousers 


60  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

only,  or  without  even  those,  bearing,  slung  from  each  end  of 
a  bamboo,  supplies  of  firewood,  or  rather  of  such  scraps  as 
in  any  other  land  would  have  been  counted  scarce  worth  the 
cost  of  transport.  Any  day  too  I  might  expect  to  meet  a 
coffin  being  borne  along,  not  secretly  and  by  night  as  we 
take  one  to  a  house,  but  proudly  borne  in  the  open  daylight, 
for  everyone  knows  a  coffin  is  the  most  thoughtful  and 
kindly  as  well  as  often  the  most  expensive  of  gifts. 

While  here  I  attended  a  wedding.  Twice  have  I  attended 
a  Chinese  wedding.  The  first  was  at  Pao  Ting  Fu  at 
Christmas  time,  and  the  contracting  parties  were  an  evangel- 
ist of  the  church  who  in  his  lay  capacity  was  a  strapping 
big  laimdryman  and  one  of  the  girls  in  Miss  Ne^vton's 
school.  They  had  never  spoken  to  one  another,  that  would 
have  been  a  frightful  breach  of  decorum,  but  as  they  went 
to  the  same  church,  where  there  was  no  screen  between  the 
men  and  the  women,  as  there  is  in  many  Chinese  churches, 
it  is  possible  they  knew  each  other  by  sight.  It  is  curious 
how  in  some  things  the  missionaries  conform  to  Chinese 
ideas  and  in  others  decline  to  yield  an  inch.  In  Pao  Ting 
Fu  no  church  member  was  allowed  to  smoke,  but  the  women 
were  kept  carefully  in  retirement,  and  the  schoolmistress, 
herself  an  unmarried  woman,  and  the  doctor's  wife  arranged 
marriages  for  such  of  the  girls  as  came  under  their  guardian- 
ship. Of  course  I  see  the  reason  for  that :  in  the  present 
state  of  Chinese  society  no  other  method  would  be  possible, 
for  these  schoolgirls,  all  the  more  because  they  had  a  little 
scholarship  and  education,  unless  their  future  had  been 
arranged  for,  would  have  been  a  temptation  and  a  prey  for 
all  the  yoimg  men  around,  and  even  with  their  careful 
education — and  it  was  a  careful  education ;  Miss  Ne^vton 
was  a  woman  in  a  thousand,  I  always  grudged  her  to  the 
Chinese — were  entirely  unfitted  to  take  care  of  themselves. 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  61 

Still  it  always  made  me  smile  to  see  these  two  women, 
middle-class  Americans  from  Virginia,  good-looking  and 
kindly,  mth  a  keen  sense  of  hmnom*,  gravely  discussing 
the  eligible  young  men  around  the  mission  and  the  girls 
who  were  most  suitable  for  them.  It  was  the  most 
barefaced  and  open  match-making  I  have  ever  seen. 
But  generally,  I  believe,  they  were  very  successful,  for 
this  one  thing  is  certain,  they  had  the  welfare  of  the  girls 
at  heart. 

And  this  was  one  of  the  matches  they  had  arranged.  It 
is  on  record  that  on  tliis  special  occasion  the  bridegroom, 
with  the  consent  and  connivance  of  the  schoolmistress,  had 
written  to  the  bride  exhorting  her  to  diligence,  and  pointing 
out  how  good  a  thuig  it  was  that  a  woman  should  be  well 
read  and  cultured.  And  seeing  that  she  came  of  very  poor 
people  she  might  well  be  counted  one  of  the  fortunate  ones 
of  the  earth,  for  the  bridegroom  was  educating  her.  The 
ignorance  of  the  average  Chinese  woman  in  far  higher  circles 
than  she  came  of  is  appalling. 

Christmas  Day  was  chosen  for  the  ceremony,  and  Christmas 
Day  was  a  glorious  winter's  day,  with  golden  sunsliine  for  the 
bride,  and  the  air,  the  keen,  invigorating  air  of  Northern 
China,  was  sparkling  with  frost.  Now,  in  contrast  to  the 
next  wedding  I  attended,  this  wedding  was  on  so-called 
Western  lines ;  but  the  Chinese  is  no  slavish  imitator,  he 
changes,  but  he  changes  after  his  own  fashion.  The  church 
was  decorated  by  devout  Chinese  Cliristians  with  results 
which  to  Western  eyes  were  a  little  weird  and  outrS.  Over 
the  platform  that  in  an  Anglican  church  would  be  the  altar 
was  a  bank  of  greenery,  very  pretty,  with  flowers  dotted  all 
over  it,  and  on  it  Chinese  characters  in  cotton  wool,  "  Earth 
rejoices,  heaven  sings,"  and  across  that  again  was  a  festoon 
of  small  flags  of  all  nations,  while  from  side  to  side  of  the 


62  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

church  were  slung  garlands  of  gaily  coloured  paper  in  the 
five  colours  of  the  new  republic,  and  when  I  think  of  the 
time  and  patience  that  went  to  the  making  of  those  garlands 
I  was  quite  sorry  they  reminded  nie  of  fly-catchers.  But 
the  crowning  decoration  was  the  Chinese  angel  that  hovered 
over  all.  This  being  was  clad  in  white,  a  nurse's  apron  was 
used,  girt  in  at  the  waist,  foreign  fashion,  and  I  grieve  to 
say  they  did  not  give  her  much  breathing-space,  though 
they  tucked  a  pink  floAver  in  her  belt.  Great  white  paper 
wings  were  spread  out  behind,  and  from  her  head,  framing 
the  decidedly  Mongolian  countenance,  were  flowing  golden 
curls,  made  by  the  ingenious  decorators  of  singed  cotton 
wool. 

One  o'clock  was  fixed  for  the  wedding,  and  at  a  quarter 
to  one  the  church  was  full. 

They  did  not  have  the  red  chair  for  the  bride.  The  con- 
sensus of  opinion  was  against  it.  "  It  was  given  up  now  by 
the  best  people  in  Peking.  They  generally  had  carriages. 
And  anyhow  it  was  a  ridiculous  expense."  So  it  was  decided 
that  the  bride  should  walk.  The  church  was  only  a  stone's- 
throw  from  the  schoolhouse  where  she  lived.  The  bride- 
groom stood  at  the  door  on  the  men's  side  of  the  church, 
a  tall,  stalwart  Chinaman,  with  his  black  hair  sleek  and 
oiled  and  cut  short  after  the  modern  fashion.  He  was 
suitably  clad  in  black  silk.  He  reminded  me  of  "  William," 
a  doll  of  my  childhood  who  was  dressed  in  the  remains  of  an 
old  silk  umbrella — this  is  saying  nothing  against  the  bride- 
groom, for  "'  William  "  was  an  eminently  superior  doll,  and 
always  looked  his  very  best  if  a  little  smug  occasionally. 
But  if  a  gentleman  who  has  attained  to  the  proud  position  of 
laundr\anan  and  evangelist,  and  is  marrying  the  girl  he  has 
himself  at  great  expense  educated  for  the  position,  has  not 
a  right  to  look  a  little  smug,  I  don't  know  who  has.    Beside 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  63 

him  stood  his  special  friend,  the  chief  Chinese  evangelist, 
who  had  himself  been  married  four  months  before.  At 
the  organ  sat  the  American  doctor's  pretty  young  wife,  and 
as  the  word  was  passed,  "  The  bride  is  coming  !  "  she  struck 
up  the  wedding  march,  and  all  the  women's  eyes  turned  to 
the  women's  door,  while  the  men,  who  would  not  commit 
such  a  breach  of  decorum  as  to  look,  stared  steadily 
ahead. 

But  the  wedding  march  had  been  played  over  and  over 
again  before  she  did  come,  resplendent  and  veiled,  after  the 
foreign  fashion,  in  white  mosquito  netting,  with  pink  and 
blue  flowers  in  her  hair,  and  another  bunch  in  her  hand. 
The  bridegroom  had  wdshed  her  to  wear  silk  on  this  great 
occasion,  so  he  had  hired  the  clothes,  a  green  silk  skirt  and 
a  bronze  satin  brocade  coat. 

A  model  of  Chinese  decormn  was  that  bride.  Her  head 
under  the  white  veil  was  bent,  her  eyes  were  glued  to  the 
ground,  and  not  a  muscle  of  her  body  moved  as  she  pro- 
gressed very  slowly  forward.  Presumably  she  did  put  one 
foot  before  the  other,  but  she  had  the  appearance  of  an 
automaton  in  the  hands  of  the  women  on  either  side — 
her  mother,  a  stooping  little  old  woman,  and  a  tall  young 
woman  in  a  bright  blue  brocade,  the  wife  of  the  bride- 
groom's special  friend.  Each  grasped  her  by  an  arm  just 
above  the  elbow  and  apparently  propelled  her  up  the  aisle 
as  if  she  were  on  wheels.  Up  the  opposite  aisle  came  the 
bridegroom,  also  with  his  head  bent  and  his  eyes  glued 
to  the  ground  and  propelled  forward  in  the  same  manner 
by  his  friend. 

They  met,  those  two  who  had  never  met  face  to  face 
before,  before  the  minister,  and  he  performed  the  short 
marriage  ceremony,  and  as  he  said  the  closing  words  the 
Chinese  evangelist  became  Master  of  Ceremonies. 


64  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

"  The  bridegroom  and  bride,"  said  he,  "  will  bow  to  each 
other  once  in  the  new  style." 

The  bride  and  groom  standing  before  the  minister  bowed 
deeply  to  each  other  in  the  new  style. 

"  They  will  bow  a  second  time,"  and  they  bowed 
again. 

"  They  will  bow  a  third  time,"  and  once  more  they  bowed 
low. 

"  They  will  now  bow  to  the  minister,"  and  they  turned 
like  well-drilled  soldiers  and  bowed  to  the  white-haired  man 
who  had  married  them. 

"  They  will  now  bow  to  the  audience,"  and  they  faced 
the  people  and  bowed  deeply,  and  everybody  in  that  con- 
gregation rose  and  returned  the  salutation. 

"  And  now  the  audience  will  bow  to  the  bride  and  bride- 
groom," and  with  right  good  will  the  congregation,  Chinese 
and  the  two  or  three  foreigners,  rose  and  saluted  the  newly 
married  couple,  also  I  presume  in  the  new  style. 

It  was  over,  and  to  the  strains  of  the  wedding  march  they 
left  the  church,  actually  together,  by  way  of  the  women's 
entrance.  But  the  bride  was  not  on  the  groom's  arm.  That 
would  not  have  been  in  accord  with  Chinese  ideas.  The 
bridegroom  marched  a  little  ahead,  propelled  forward  by  his 
friend,  as  if  he  had  no  means  of  volition  of  his  o\\ti — again  I 
thought  of  "  William,"  long  since  departed  and  forgotten 
till  this  moment — and  behind  came  the  new  wife,  thrust 
forward  in  the  same  manner,  still  with  her  eyes  on  the  floor 
and  every  muscle  stiff  as  if  she  too  had  been  a  doll. 

"  All  the  world  loves  a  lover,"  but  in  China,  the  land  of 
ceremonies,  there  are  no  lovers.  This  man  had  gone  further 
than  most  men  in  the  wooing  of  his  wife,  and  they  were 
begirming  life  together  with  very  fair  chances  of  success. 
But  even  so  the  girl  might  not  hope  for  a  home  of  her  own. 


BRINGING   HOiME  A  COFFIN, 
See  pa^e  60. 


ENGAGED  TO   RE    MARRIED. 


A  PATIENT  AT  THE  CLINIC. 

See  page  79. 


AUTHOR'S  CARAVAN   PASSING  WAYSIDE   RESTAURANT  IN 

THE   MOUNTAINS.  See  page  97. 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  65 

That  would  have  been  most  unseemly.  The  evangelist 
laundryman  had  not  a  mother,  but  his  only  sister  was 
taking  the  place  of  mother-in-law,  and  he  and  his  bride 
would  live  with  her  and  her  husband. 

The  wedding  I  attended  in  Fen  Chou  Fu  was  quite  a 
different  affair.  It  was  spring,  or  perhaps  I  should  say 
early  summer,  the  streets  through  which  we  drove  to  the 
old  house  of  one  of  the  Ming  princes  where  dwelt  the  bride- 
groom with  his  mother  were  thick  with  dust,  and  the  sun 
blazed  down  on  us.  The  bridegroom  belonged  to  a  respect- 
able well-to-do  trading  family,  and  he  wanted  a  Christian 
wife  because  he  himself  is  an  active  member  of  the  church, 
but  the  Christian  church  at  Fen  Chou  Fu  has  been  bachelor 
so  long,  and  the  division  between  the  sexes  is  so  strait,  that 
there  are  about  fifty  available  girls  to  between  eight  and  nine 
hundred  yornig  men,  therefore  he  had  to  take  what  he  could 
get,  and  what  he  could  get  was  a  pagan  little  girl  about 
eighteen,  for  whom  he  paid  thirty  Mexican  dollars,  roughly 
a  little  under  three  pounds.  I,  a  Greek,  who  do  not  care 
much  what  any  man's  religion  is  so  long  as  he  live  a  decent 
life,  understand  the  desire  of  that  man  for  a  Christian  wife, 
for  that  means  here  in  the  interior  that  she  will  have 
received  a  little  education,  will  be  able  to  read  and  write 
and  do  aritlimetic,  and  will  know  something  of  cleanliness 
and  hygiene. 

The  great  day  arrived,  and  the  missionaries  and  I  were 
invited  to  the  bridegroom's  house  for  the  ceremony  and  the 
feast  that  was  to  follow.  The  entertainment  began  about 
eight  o'clock  in  the  morning,  but  we  arrived  a  little  after 
noon,  and  we  two  women.  Miss  Grace  Maccomaughey  and  I, 
were  ushered^hrough  the  com-tyards  till  we  came  to  the 
interior  one,  which  was  crowded  with  all  manner  of  folks, 
some  in  festive  array,  some  servants  in  the  orduiary  blue 

£ 


66  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

of  the  country,  and  some  beggars  in  rags  who  were  antici- 
pating the  scraps  that  fall  from  the  rich  man's  table,  and 
were  having  tea  and  cake  already.     Overhead  the  sky  was 
shut  out  by  all  manner  of  flags  and  banners  with  inscriptions 
in  Chinese  characters  upon  them,  and  once  inside,  we  made 
our   way   towards   the   house  through   a   pressing    crowd. 
Opposite  the  place  that  perhaps  answered  for  a  front  door 
was  a  table  draped  in  red,  the  colour  of  joy,  and  on  the  table 
were  two  long  square  candles  of  red  wax  with   Chinese 
characters  in  gold  upon  them.     They  were  warranted  to 
bum  a  day  and  a  night,  and  between  them  was  a  pretty 
dwarf   plant   quaintly   gnarled  and   bearing   innimierable 
white  flowers.    That  table  was  artistic  and  pretty,  but  to 
its  left  was  a  great  pile  of  coal,  and,  beside  the  coal,  a  stove 
and  a  long  table  at  which  a  man,  blue- clad,  sliaven  and  with 
a  queue,  was  busy  preparing  the  feast  within  sight  of  all. 
I  could  have  wished  the  signs  of  hospitality  had  not  been  so 
much  in  evidence,  for  I  could  quite  believe  that  cook  had 
not  been  washed  since  he  was  three  days  old,  and  under  the 
table  was  a  large  earthenware  bowl  full  of  extremely  dirty 
water  in  which  were   being  washed  the  bowls  we  would 
presently  use. 

Out  came  the  women  of  the  household  to  greet  us  and 
conduct  us  to  the  bridal  chamber,  dark  and  di'aped  with 
red  and  without  any  air  to  speak  of.  It  was  crowded  to 
suffocation  with  women  in  gala  costumes,  with  bands  of  black 
satin  embroidered  in  flowers  upon  their  heads,  gay  coats 
and  loose  trousers,  smiling  faces  and  the  tiny  feet  of  all 
Shansi.  It  was  quite  a  relief  to  sit  down  on  the  k''ang 
opposite  to  a  stout  and  cheerful  old  lady  with  a  beaming 
face  who  looked  like  a  well-to-do  farmer's  wife.  She  was  a 
childless  widow,  however,  but  she  had  attained  to  the  proud 
position  of  Bible-woman,  receiving  a  salary  of  four  Mexican 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  67 

dollars  a  month,  and  consequently  had  a  position  and  station 
of  her  o\\ai.  In  my  experience  there  is  nothing  like  being 
sure  of  one's  own  importance  in  the  world.  It  is  certainly 
conducive  to  happiness.  I  know  the  missionaries,  bless 
them  !  would  say  I  am  taking  a  wrong  view,  but  whatever  the 
reason  at  the  back  of  it  all,  to  them  is  the  honour  of  that 
happy,  comfortable-lookuig  Bible-woman.  And  there  are 
so  few  happy-looking  women  in  China  ! 

We  sat  on  the  k^ang  and  waited  for  the  bride,  and  we  dis- 
coursed. My  feet — I  never  can  tuck  them  under  me — clad 
in  good  substantial  leather,  looked  very  large  beside  the  tiny 
ones  around  me,  for  even  the  Bible- woman's  had  been  bound 
in  her  youth,  and  of  course,  though  they  were  unbound  now, 
the  broken  bones  could  never  come  straight,  and  the  flesh 
could  not  gi'ow  between  the  heel  and  the  toes.  She  looked 
at  my  feet  and  I  laughed,  and  she  said  sententiously,  like  a 
true  Chinese  : 

"  The  larger  the  feet  the  happier  the  woman." 

I  asked  did  it  hurt  when  hers  were  bound. 

"  It  hurt  like  anything,"  translated  the  missionary  girl 
beside  me,  "  but  it  is  all  right  now." 

The  bride  was  long  in  coming,  and  shortly  after  four  we 
heard  the  gongs  and  music  and  crackers  that  heralded  her 
arrival,  and  we  all  went  out  to  gi-eet  her,  or  rather  to  stare 
at  her.  First  came  the  bridegroom,  and  that  well-to-do 
tradesman  was  a  sight  worth  coming  out  to  see.  He  wore 
a  most  respectable  black  satin  jacket  and  a  very  pretty 
blue  silk  petticoat ;  round  his  neck  and  crossed  on  his  breast 
was  a  sash  of  orange-red  silk,  set  off  with  a  flaring  magenta 
artificial  chrysanthemum  of  no  mean  proportions,  and  on  his 
head,  and  somewliat  too  small  for  him,  was — a  rare  headgear 
in  China — a  hard  black  felt  hat.  From  the  brim  of  that,  on 
either  side,  rose  a  vnre  archway  across  the  crown,  on  which 


68  A  BROICEN  JOURNEY 

were  strung  ornaments  of  brass,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  that 
the  whole  effect  was  striking. 

Before  the  bride  came  in  to  be  married,  out  went  two 
women  to  hft  her  veil  and  smear  her  face  with  onion.  They 
explained  that  the  bridegroom's  mother  should  do  this,  but 
the  fortune-teller  had  informed  them  that  these  two  A\omen 
would  be  antagonistic — which  I  think  I  could  have  foretold 
without  the  aid  of  any  fortune-teller — therefore  the  rite 
was  deputed  to  two  other  women,  one  of  whom  was  the 
kindergarten  teacher  at  the  school.  Then,  with  the  teacher 
on  one  side  and  a  lucky  woman  with  husband  and  children 
living  on  the  other,  down  through  the  crowd  came  the  little 
bride  to  her  marriage.  She  was  clad  in  a  red  robe,  much 
embroidered,  which  entirely  hid  her  figm-e,  so  tliat  whether 
she  were  fat  or  slim  it  Avas  impossible  to  see,  on  her  head 
was  a  brazen  crown  entirely  covering  it,  and  over  her  face 
was  a  veil  of  thick  bright  red  silk.  She  could  neither  see 
nor  be  seen.  Her  feet  were  the  tiniest  I  have  ever  seen, 
they  looked  about  suitable  for  a  baby  of  twelve  months  old. 
The  tiny  red  shoes  were  decorated  with  little  green  tassels 
at  the  pointed  toe  and  had  little  baby  high  heels,  and  though 
they  say  these  feet  were  probably  false,  the  real  ones  must 
have  been  wonderfully  small  if  they  were  hidden  in  the 
manifold  red  bandages  that  purported  to  make  the  slender 
red  ankles  neat. 

Bride  and  bridegroom  took  their  places  in  front  of  the 
minister,  in  front  of  the  plant  and  alongside  the  coals,  and 
it  made  my  back  ache  to  think  of  keeping  any  being  standing 
for  above  a  second  on  such  feet.  The  service  began,  all  in 
Chinese,  of  course,  though  the  officiating  minister  was  an 
American,  a  couple  of  hymns  were  sung,  and  the  audience 
laughed  aloud  because  she  was  married  by  her  baby  name, 
her  mother  having  omitted  to  provide  her  with  another. 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  69 

The  good  woman  had  yearned  for  a  son  so  she  had  called 
this  girl  "  Lead  a  brother." 

Half-way  through  the  ceremony  the  bridegroom  lifted  the 
veil.  He  gave  it  a  hurried  snatch,  as  if  it  were  a  matter  of 
no  moment,  and  hung  it  on  one  of  the  projections  of  the 
brazen  crown,  and  then  lie  and  we  saw  the  bride's  face  for 
the  first  time.  They  had  done  their  best  to  spoil  her  beauty 
with  carmine  paint,  but  she  had  a  nice  little  nose  and  a 
sweet  little  quivering  mouth  that  was  very  lovable,  and  I 
think  the  bridegroom,  though  he  never  moved  a  muscle, 
must  have  been  pleased  with  his  bargain. 

WTien  the  service  was  ended,  she  and  we,  the  principal 
guests,  went  back  to  the  k'ang  in  the  bride  cliamber;  her 
crowTi  and  outer  red  robe  were  taken  off,  all  in  public,  and 
a  small  square  box  containing  some  of  her  trousseau  was 
brought  in,  and  every  woman  and  child  there  in  that  stuffy 
little  room  dived  into  it  and  hauled  out  the  silks  and 
embroideries  and  little  shoes  and  made  audible  comments 
on  them. 

"  H'm  !  it's  only  sham  silk,"  said  one. 

"  How  old  are  you,  new  bride  ?  "  asked  another. 

"  She's  not  much  to  look  at,"  said  a  third,  which  was  a 
shame,  for  with  the  paint  washed  off  she  must  have  been 
pretty  though  tired-looking. 

It  was  five  o'clock  before  we  went  to  the  feast,  all  the 
women  together,  and  all  the  men  together,  four  or  five  at  a 
table,  and  the  bridegroom,  without  the  absurd  headgear, 
and  his  mother,  in  sober  blue  silk,  came  round  at  intervals 
and  exhorted  us  to  eat  plenty. 

We  had  one  little  saucer  each,  a  pair  of  chopsticks  and  a 
china  spoon  such  as  that  with  which  my  grandmother  used 
to  ladle  out  her  tea,  and  they  served  for  all  the  courses. 
It  was  lucky  I  had  had  notliing  since  seven  in  the  morning, 


70  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

or  I  might  not  have  felt  equaX  to  eating  after  I  had  seen 
the  cooking  and  the  washing-up  arrangements.  As  it  was, 
I  was  hungry  enough  not  to  worry  over  trifles.  After  she 
had  sucked  them  audibly,  my  friend  the  Bible- woman  helped 
me  with  her  own  chopsticks,  and  I  managed  to  put  up  with 
that  too.  I  tried  a  little  wine.  It  was  served  in  little  bowls 
not  as  large  as  a  very  small  salt-cellar,  literally  in  thimble- 
fuls,  but  one  was  too  much  for  me.  It  tasted  of  fiery  spirit 
and  earth,  and  I  felt  my  companion  was  not  denying  herself 
much  when  she  proclaimed  herself  a  teetotaller.  \Miat  we 
ate  heaven  only  knows,  but  much  to  my  sui-prise  I  found 
it  very  good.  Chinese  when  they  have  the  opportunity  are 
excellent  cooks. 

The  bride  sat  throughout  the  feast  on  the  k^ang,  her  hands — 
three  of  her  finger-nails  were  shielded  ^vith  long  silver  shields 
— hidden  under  her  lavender  jacket  and  her  plate  piled  before 
her,  though  etiquette  required  that  she  should  refuse  all 
food.  They  chaffed  her  and  laughed  at  her,  but  she  sat 
there  with  downcast  eyes  like  a  graven  image.  After  the 
feast  two  or  three  men  friends  of  the  bridegroom  were 
brought  in,  and  to  every  one  she  had  to  rise  and  make  an 
obeisance,  and  though  the  men  and  women  hardly  looked 
at  or  spoke  to  each  other,  it  was  evident  that  she  was  for 
this  occasion  a  thing  to  be  commented  on,  inspected  and 
laughed  at.  She  was  bearing  it  very  well,  poor  little  girl, 
when  Kan  T'ai  T'ai's  cart— I  was  Kan  T'ai  T'ai— was 
announced,  and  we  went  home  through  the  streets  as  the 
shades  of  evening  were  falling.  I  had  fed  bountifully  and 
well,  but  the  dissipation  had  worn  me  out,  the  airlessness 
of  the  rooms  was  terrible,  and  even  the  dust -laden  air  of  the 
narrow  street  I  drew  into  my  lungs  with  a  sigh  of  deep 
thankfulness.  It  was  good  to  be  in  the  free  air  again. 
Better  still  to  remember,  however  I  had  railed  against  my 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  71 

fate  at  times,  nothing  that  could  ever  happen  to  me  would 
be  quite  as  bad  as  the  fate  of  the  average  Chinese  woman. 

However,  a  new  life  was  beginning  for  this  girl  in  more 
ways  than  one.  The  bridegroom  was  going  back  to  his 
business,  that  of  a  photographer  in  T'ai  Yuan  Fu,  leaving  his 
wife  with  his  mother.  She  was  to  be  sent  to  the  school 
for  married  women  opened  by  the  missionaries,  and,  of 
course,  her  feet  were  to  be  unboimd.  Probably,  I  hope  I 
do  not  do  him  an  injustice,  the  bridegroom  would  not  have 
objected  to  bound  feet,  but  he  did  want  an  educated  mother 
for  his  children,  and  the  missionaries  will  take  no  woman 
with  bound  feet.  They  will  do  the  best  they  can  to  retrieve 
the  damage  done,  though  she  can  never  hope  to  be  anything 
but  a  maimed  cripple,  but  at  least  she  in  the  future  will  be 
free  from  pain,  into  her  darkened  life  will  come  a  little  know- 
ledge and  a  little  light,  and  certainly  her  daughters  will 
have  a  happier  life  and  a  brighter  outlook. 

Missions  in  China,  if  they  are  to  do  any  good,  are  necessarily 
patriarchal.  They  look  after  their  converts  from  the  cradle 
to  the  grave.  The  kindergarten  run  by  a  Chinese  girl  under 
the  maternal  eye  of  young  Miss  Grace  Maccomaughey  was 
quite  a  pretty  sight,  with  all  the  little  tots  in  their  quaint 
dresses  of  many  colours  and  their  hair  done  or  their  heads 
shaved  in  the  absurd  fashion  which  seems  good  to  the  proud 
Chinese  parents — for  Chinese  parents  are  both  proud  and 
tender  and  loving,  though  their  ways  seem  strange  to  us. 
But  babies  all  the  world  over,  yellow  or  black  or  white,  are  all 
lovable,  and  these  babies  at  the  kindergarten  were  delicious. 

"  Beloved  guest,  beloved  guest,"  they  sang  in  chorus 
when  I  came  in  and  they  were  told  to  greet  me.  "  Peace 
to  thee,  peace  to  thee." 

And  "  Lao  T'ai  T'ai "  they  used  to  address  me  in  shrill 
little  voices  as  I  went  about  the  compound.     Lao  T'ai  T'ai 


72  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

(I  shouldn't  like  to  swear  I'd  spelled  it  properly)  means 
"  Old  lady  " — that  is,  a  woman  of  venerable  years  who  is 
rich  enough  to  keep  a  servant — and  it  was  the  first  time  in 
my  life  I  had  been  so  addressed,  so  I  looked  in  the  glass  to 
see  if  I  had  developed  grey  hair  or  wrinkles — riding  on  a 
mule-pack  would  be  enough  to  excuse  anything — and  then 
I  remembered  tliat  if  in  doubt  in  China  it  is  erring  on  the 
side  of  comtesy  to  consider  your  acquaintance  old.  I 
dare  say  to  the  children  I  was  old.  I  remember  as  a  very 
little  girl  a  maiden  aunt  asking  me  how  old  I  thought  her, 
and  I,  knowing  she  was  older  than  my  mother,  felt  she  must 
be  quite  tottery  and  suggested  in  all  good  faith  she  might 
be  about  ninety.  I  believe  the  lady  had  just  attained  her 
five  and  thirtieth  year,  and  prided  herself  upon  her  youthful 
appearance.  At  anyrate  her  attitude  on  this  occasion 
taught  me  when  guessing  an  age  it  is  better  to  understate 
tlian  to  overestimate.  At  least  in  the  West.  Here  in  the 
East  I  was  "  Old  lady  "  by  courtesy. 

And  they  begin  the  important  things  of  life  early  in  China. 
At  the  kindergarten  there  were  two  little  tots,  a  boy  and  a 
girl,  engaged  to  be  married.  The  boy  was  the  son  of  one  of 
the  mission  cooks  and  the  girl  was  the  daughter  of  his  wife. 
He,  a  widower,  sought  a  wife  to  look  after  his  little  boy,  and 
he  got  this  young  widow  cheap.  Her  price  was  thirty 
tiaous — that  is,  a  little  over  one  pound — and  at  first  he  said 
it  was  too  much  and  he  could  not  afford  it,  but  when  he 
heard  she  had  a  little  girl  he  changed  his  mind  and  scraped 
together  the  money,  for  the  child  could  be  betrothed  to  his 
little  son  and  save  the  expense  of  a  wife  later  on. 

They  were  a  quaint  little  pair,  both  in  coats  and  trousers, 
shabby  and  old,  evidently  the  children  of  poor  people, 
and  both  with  their  heads  shaven  save  for  a  tuft  of  hair  here 
and  there.     The  boy  Iiad  his  tufts  cut  short,  while  the  girl's 


A  CITY  UNDER  THE  HILLS  73 

were  allowed  to  grow  as  long  as  they  would  and  were  twisted 
into  a  plait.  Such  a  happy  little  couple  they  were,  always 
together,  and  in  the  games  at  the  kindergarten  when  they 
liad  to  pair  these  little  ones  always  chose  each  other. 
Possibly  the  new  wife  in  the  home  was  a  wise  and  discreet 
woman.  She  might  be  glad  too  at  the  thought  that  she 
need  not  part  with  her  daughter.  Anyhow  I  should  think 
tliat  in  Fen  Chou  Fu  in  the  future  there  would  be  one  married 
couple  between  whom  the  sincerest  affection  will  exist. 

I  suppose  Chinese  husbands  and  wives  are  fond  of  each 
other  occasionally,  but  the  Chinaman  looks  upon  wedded  life 
from  quite  a  different  point  of  view  from  the  Westerner.  I 
remember  hearing  about  a  new-made  widow  who  came  to 
sympathise  with  a  missionary  recovering  from  a  long  illness. 
She  was  properly  thanked,  and  then  the  missionary  in  her 
turn  said  in  the  vernacular  : 

"  And  you  too  have  suffered  a  bitterness.     I  am  sorry." 

"I  ?  "  incredulously,  as  much  as  to  say,  Who  could  think 
I  had  a  sorrow  ? 

"  Why,  5^es.     You  have  lost  your  husband,  haven't  you  ?  " 

"  Call  that  a  bitterness  ?  "  smiled  the  relict  cheerfully,  and 
her  would-be  consoler  felt  the  ground  cut  away  beneath  her 
feet. 

But  perhaps  that  sympathiser  was  not  quite  as  much 
dismayed  as  another  lady  who  offered  her  condolences  upon 
a  similar  occasion.  The  new-made  widow  was  a  gay  old 
thing,  and  she  remarked  blandly,  with  a  toss  of  her  head : 

"  All,  we  don't  worry  about  things  like  that  when  we've 
got  the  Gospel !  "  which  left  that  well-meaning  teacher  a 
little  uncertain  as  to  whether  she  had  instructed  her  in  the 
doctrines  of  her  new  faith  quite  correctly. 

Fen  Chou  Fu  is  a  town  that  lends  itself  to  reform,  that 
asks  for  it.     \Mien  I  was  there  they  had  a  magistrate  who 


74  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

had  been  educated  in  Japan  and  was  ready  to  back  any 
measures  for  the  good  of  the  town.  He  was  too  much 
imbued  with  the  spirit  of  modern  thought  to  be  a  Christian, 
but  he  was  full  of  admiration  for  many  of  the  measures 
advocated  by  these  enthusiastic  young  people  from  Oberlin 
College.  There  is  a  large  Government  school  here — you 
may  see  the  courtyards  with  their  lily  ponds  and  bridges 
from  the  wall — that  has  been  in  existence  for  hundreds  of 
years,  and  this  magistrate  appealed  to  the  missionaries  to 
take  it  over  and  institute  their  modem  methods.  They 
might  even,  so  he  said,  teach  their  owti  faith  there.  The 
only  thing  that  stood  in  the  way  was  want  of  funds,  for 
though  the  school  was  endowed,  money  has  still  a  way  of 
sticking  to  the  hands  through  which  it  passes  in  China. 
The  missionaries  were  rather  inclined,  I  think,  to  have  hopes 
of  his  conversion,  but  I  do  not  think  it  is  very  easy  to  convert 
the  broad-minded  man  who  sees  the  good  in  all  creeds.  This 
magistrate  was  anxious  to  help  his  people  sunk  in  ignorance 
and  was  wise  enough  to  use  every  means  that  came  in  his 
way,  for  he  knows,  knowing  his  own  people,  you  will  never 
Westernise  a  Chinaman.  He  will  take  all  that  is  good — or 
bad — in  the  West  that  appeals  to  him,  and  he  will  mould  it 
in  his  own  way.  This  magistrate  was  building  an  industrial 
school  for  criminal  boys  close  to  the  mission  station  and, 
more  progressive  than  the  West  itself,  he  allowed  his  wife  to 
sit  on  the  bench  beside  him  and  try  and  sentence  women 
proved  guilty  of  crime. 


CHAPTER  V 

"  MISERERE    DOMINE  !  " 

As  I  have  said  more  than  once,  it  seems  to  me  the  most 
intolerable  thing  in  life  would  be  to  be  a  Chinese  woman. 
I  remember  when  first  I  began  to  wTite  about  China  I  asked 
a  friend  of  mine  to  look  over  my  work  and  he  objected  to 
my  making  such  a  fuss  about  the  condition  of  the  women. 

"  Why,  people  will  think  you  are  a  suffragette  !  "  said  he, 
searching  for  some  term  of  obloquy  that  he  felt  could  not 
possibly  apply  to  me. 

But  I  am  a  suffragist,  an  ardent  suffragist,  realising  that 
a  woman  is  most  valuable  neither  as  an  angel  nor  as  a  slave, 
but  as  a  useful  citizen,  and  I  saw  then  that  he  possibly 
knew  little  about  the  condition  of  his  own  women,  and 
probably  absolutely  nothing  at  all  about  the  condition  of 
the  women  of  the  race  who  swarmed  around  him.  Those 
he  met  would  be  dumb,  and  at  any  rate  no  right-minded 
woman  begins  upon  her  ^\Tongs  to  a  stranger.  In  any 
country  it  would  be  bad  taste,  in  China  no  words  can  tell 
what  shocking  bad  taste.  I  had  to  seek  further  afield  for 
my  information,  and  I  got  it  from  the  medical  missions. 
Now  I  went  to  China  with  a  strong  prejudice  against 
missionaries,  and  I  found  there  many  people  who  backed 
me  up.  And  then  it  occmred  to  me  that  I  had  better  go 
to  a  mission  station  and  see  what  manner  of  people  were 
these  I  was  judging  so  hastily  and  so  finally. 

I  went.  And  what  I  saw  made  me  sorry  that  Great 
Britain  and  America,  to  say  nothing  of  Scandinavia,  should 

75 


76  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

be  deprived  of  the  services  of  these  men  and  women  who  are 
giving  so  much  to  an  alien  people.  Of  com*se  I  know  that 
many  missionaries  have  the  "  call,"  a  "  vocation  "  I  suppose 
the  Catholics  would  call  it. 

"  It  is  a  fine  work,"  said  I,  usually  the  unadmiring,  "  to 
teach  these  women,  but  I  do  not  like  coming  in  contact  with 
them,  however  much  I  appreciate  their  virtues." 

And  the  missionary  girl  looked  at  me  pityingly. 

"  Do  you  think,"  said  she,  "  we  could  come  all  this  way 
to  teach  Chinese  women  reading,  WTiting  and  arithmetic  ?  " 

It  seems  to  me  a  great  thing  to  do ;  if  it  be  only  to 
teach  them  to  wash,  it  is  a  great  thing ;  but  I  who  merely 
pitied  would  never  have  stayed  there  to  better  the  condition 
of  those  unhappy  women.  To  her  and  her  comrades  had 
come  that  mysterious  call  that  comes  to  all  peoples  through 
all  the  ages,  the  Crying  in  the  Wilderness,  "  Prepare  ye  the 
way  of  the  Lord.  Make  His  paths  straight,"  and  she 
thought  more,  far  more,  of  it  than  I  did  of  the  undoubtedly 
good  work  I  saw  she  was  doing,  saw  as  I  never  should  have 
seen  had  I  not  gone  in  the  ways  untrodden  by  the  tourist, 
or  indeed  by  any  white  man. 

There  are  missionaries  and  missionaries,  of  course ;  there 
are  even  backsliders  who,  having  learned  the  difficult  tongue 
under  the  aegis  of  the  missions,  have  taken  up  curio-buying 
or  any  other  of  the  mercantile  careers  that  loom  so  tempt- 
ingly before  the  man  who  knows  China  ;  but  in  all  classes 
of  society  there  are  backsliders,  the  great  majority  must  not 
be  judged  by  them.  Neither  must  their  narrowness  be  laid 
too  much  to  heart  when  judging  the  missionary  as  a  whole. 
Possibly  only  a  fanatic  can  carry  through  whole-heartedly 
the  work  of  a  missionary  at  a  remote  station  in  China,  and 
most  fanatics  are  narrow.  There  are,  too,  the  men  and  women 
who  make  it  a  business  and  a  livelihood,  who  reckon  they 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  !  "  77 

have  house  and  income  and  position  and  servants  in  return 
for  their  services  to  the  heathen,  but  they  too  are  faithful 
and  carry  out  their  contracts.  Having  once  seen  the  misery 
and  poverty  in  whith  the  great  majority  of  Chinese  dwell, 
I  can  say  honestly  that  I  think  every  mission  station  that 
I  Iiave  seen  is  a  centre  from  which  radiates  at  least  a  hope 
of  better  tilings.  They  raise  the  standard  of  living,  and 
though  I  care  not  what  god  a  man  worships,  and  camiot 
understand  how  any  man  can  be  brought  to  care,  it  is  good 
that  to  these  people  sitting  in  darkness  someone  should 
point  out  that  behind  the  world  lies  a  great  Force,  God, 
Love,  call  it  what  you  will,  that  is  working  for  good.  That 
the  more  educated  Chinese  lias  worked  out  a  faith  for  him- 
self, just  as  many  in  the  AA'est  have  done,  I  grant  you,  but 
still  the  majority  of  the  people  tliat  I  have  seen  sit  in  dark- 
ness and  want  help.  From  the  missions  they  get  it.  Taken 
by  and  large,  the  Chinaman  is  a  utilitarian  person,  and  if 
the  missions  had  not  been  helpful  they  would  long  ago  have 
gone.  And  for  the  missionaries  themselves — I  speak  of  those 
in  the  outstations — not  one,  it  seems  to  me,  not  one  would 
stay  among  the  Chinese  unless  he  were  sure  that  his  God 
had  sent  him,  for  the  life  is  hard,  even  for  the  rich  missions 
there  are  many  deprivations,  and  if  therefore,  being  but 
human,  they  somethnes  depict  their  God  as  merciful  and 
loving  in  a  way  that  seems  small  and  petty,  much  must  be 
forgiven  them.     They  are  doing  their  best. 

There  is  another  side  to  it  too  for  the  West.  These 
missionaries  are  conquering  China  by  the  system  of  peaceful 
penetration.  They  are  persecuted,  they  suffer,  are  murdered 
often,  but  that  does  not  drive  them  away.  They  come  back 
again  and  again,  and  wherever  the  missionary  succeeds 
in  planting  his  foot  the  hatred  to  foreigners  and  tilings 
foreign,  strong  among  the  conservative  Chinese,  is  weakened 


78  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

and  finally  broken  down.  China  is  a  rich  country,  she  is 
invaluable  to  the  nations  of  the  earth  for  purposes  of  trade, 
and  though  the  missionary  in  many  ways,  if  he  were  asked, 
would  oppose  the  coming  of  the  wliite  man,  he  certainly  is 
the  pioneer. 

China  is  trying  to  reform  herself,  but  the  process  is  slow, 
and  it  seems  to  me  in  Shansi  and  in  the  parts  of  Chihli  that 
I  know  it  would  be  a  long,  long  while  before  the  good  per- 
colated to  the  proletariat,  the  Babylonish  slaves,  if  it  were 
not  for  the  missionaries ;  and  particularly  do  I  admire  the 
medical  missionaries,  for  China  is  one  huge  sore. 

That  is  the  word  the  woman  doctor  at  Pao  Ting  Fu  applied 
to  it,  and,  attending  her  clinic  of  a  morning,  I  was  inclined 
to  agree  with  her.  Life  is  hard  for  everybody  among  the 
poor  in  China,  but  especially  does  it  press  upon  the  women. 
They  came  there  into  the  clean  sun- lit  room  and  the  reek  of 
them  went  up  to  heaven — ^bald-headed,  toothless  old  crones 
in  wadded  coats  out  of  which  all  semblance  of  colour  had 
long  since  passed,  young  girls  and  little  children  clad  in  the 
oldest  of  garments.  There  were  so  many  with  ingrowing 
eyelashes  that  the  doctor  had  one  particular  day  upon  wliich 
she  operated  for  this  painful  disfigurement,  and  she  showed 
me  how,  by  making  a  little  nick — I'm  afraid  I  can't  use 
proper  surgical  terms — in  the  upper  eyelid,  she  turned  back 
the  eyelashes  and  made  them  gi-ow  in  the  du'ection  they  are 
intended  to  grow,  and  saved  the  unfortunates'  eyes.  Why 
eyelashes  should  grow  in  in  China  I  don't  know.  Perhaps 
it  is  my  ignorance,  but  I  have  never  heard  of  their  beliaving 
in  such  an  unnatural  fasliion  in  any  other  part  of  the  world, 
while  in  Pao  Ting  Fu  tliis  ailment  seemed  to  be  as  common 
as  influenza  in  London,  Then  there  would  be  women  with 
their  mouths  closed  by  sores,  often  so  badly  they  could 
only  live  by  suction,  and  more  than  once  a  new  mouth  had 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  !  "  79 

to  be  cut ;  there  were  cancerous  gro^vths — the  woman  de- 
picted in  the  picture  had  waited  twenty  years  before  she 
could  arrange  to  come  under  one  hundred  miles  to  the  doctor 
— ^there  were  sores  on  the  head,  sores  all  over  the  body,  aU,  I 
suppose,  including  the  ingrowing  eyelashes,  caused  by  mal- 
nutrition, swollen  glands,  abscesses  offensive  and  purulent, 
in  fact  in  that  clinic  were  collected  such  an  array  of  hmnan 
woes,  ghastly,  horrible,  as  well  might  make  one  wonder  if 
the  force  behind  all  life  could  possibly  be  anything  but  devil- 
ish and  cruel.     Wherein  could  the  good  be  found  ?    Wliere  ? 

And  yet  there  was  good.  Among  these  women  moved  the 
nurses.  They  were  comely  girls  in  blue  coats  and  trousers, 
"wdth  their  abundant  black  liair  smoothly  drawn  back, 
neat  white  stockings  and  the  daintiest  of  little  shoes.  Their 
delicate  artistic  hands  used  sponge  and  basin  very  capably, 
they  were  the  greatest  contrast  to  their  patients,  and  yet 
they  were  truly  Chinese,  had  sprung  from  the  people  to 
whom  they  now  ministered,  and  one  of  them,  though  it 
was  hardly  observable,  had  an  artificial  foot.  So  liad  she 
suffered  from  foot- binding  that  her  own  had  liad  to  be 
amputated. 

Probably  most  of  the  ailments  there  treated  were  pre- 
ventable, but  worst  of  all  were  the  bound  feet  and  the 
ailments  the  women  suffered  from  in  consequence.  It  is 
not  good  manners  to  speak  about  a  woman's  feet,  and  the 
women  themselves  rarely  refer  to  them,  but  naturally  I 
was  interested  in  the  custom,  and  whenever  the  doctor  got 
a  "  good  "  bound  foot,  wliich  probably  meant  a  very  bad 
one,  she  sent  over  for  me  to  come  and  see  it.  Anyone  who 
has  once  seen  a  bound  foot  will  never  forget  it.  It  always 
smelt  abominably  when  first  the  bandages  were  taken  off, 
and  the  first  thing  the  nurses  did  was  to  provide  a  square 
kerosene  tin  of  hot  water  in  which  to  soak  the  foot  well. 


80  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

Well  washed,  the  feet  might  be  looked  at.  Shansi  especially 
is  the  home  of  the  bound  foot,  most  of  the  women  have  such 
small  feet  that  th^y  are  confined  for  the  greater  part  of 
their  lives  to  the  k^ang.  I  remember  Dr  Lewis  in  all  serious- 
ness saying  that  he  thought  on  the  whole  a  Chinese  woman 
was  better  without  her  feet.  And  I'm  inclined  to  think 
he  was  right.  The  toes,  all  except  the  big  toe,  are  pressed 
back  till  they  touch  the  heel,  the  bandage  is  put  on  and 
drawn  tighter  and  tighter  every  day,  and  if  the  girl  is  healthy 
and  big-boned,  so  much  the  worse  for  her.  No  matter  the 
size  of  the  girl,  the  foot  must  conform  to  the  one  standard. 
In  Shansi  when  I  was  there  the  shoes  were  generally  about 
four  inches  long,  and  I  have  taken  shoes  of  that  length  off 
a  tall  and  strapping  woman  who  was  tottering  along  with 
the  aid  of  a  stick.  What  she  must  have  suffered  to  get  her 
feet  to  that  size  is  too  ten*ible  to  imagine.  She  must  have 
been  suffering  still  for  that  matter.  If  the  instep  after  the 
tightest  binding  still  sticks  up  the  girl's  marriage  chances 
are  seriously  interfered  with,  and  then  the  mother  or  some 
feminine  relative  takes  a  meat-chopper  and  breaks  the  bone 
till  she  can  bind  the  foot  small  enough.  This  information 
I  got  from  the  American  lady  who  looks  after  the  women  in 
the  mission  in  Fen  Chou  Fu ;  and  at  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  the  sister 
in  the  women's  hospital  added  the  gruesome  detail  that  they 
sometimes  pull  off  the  little  girls'  toe-nails  so  that  they  may 
not  interfere  with  the  binding  ! 

And  at  the  women's  hospital  at  Pao  Ting  Fu  I  saw  the 
finished  product.  The  big  toe  stuck  straight  out,  red, 
possibly  because  of  the  soaking  in  hot  ^vater — I  never  had 
courage  to  look  at  one  unsoaked — and  ghastly-looking,  the 
other  toes  were  pressed  back  against  the  heel  and  the  heel 
went  up  and  was  exactly  like  the  Cuban  heels  affected. by 
smartly  dressed  women,  only  this  time  it  had  been  worked  in 


A  WAYSIDE    REFRESHMENT  BOOTH  IN   THE   LOEss  COUNTRY, 


JNN    YARD. 
^re  page  99. 


WU  CH'ENG,  A  VILLAGE     OF  YAOS. 

Sre  page  99. 


OUTSIDE  A  CAMEL  INN. 
See  page  loi. 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  !  "  81 

flesh  and  blood.  The  whole  limb  from  the  big  toe  to  the 
knee  was  hard  and  immovable  as  stone.  If  you  press 
ordinary  flesh  anywhere  it  pits,  just  yields  a  little,  not  so  a 
Chinese  woman's  leg  and  foot.  It  is  thin,  perished,  literally 
hard  as  marble.  Once  having  seen  a  foot  unbound,  it  is 
a  wonder  to  me  that  any  woman  should  walk  at  all.  And 
yet  they  do.  They  hold  out  their  arms  and  walk,  balancing 
themselves,  and  they  use  a  stick.  Sometimes  they  walk  on 
their  heels,  sometimes  they  try  the  toe,  but  once  I  realised 
what  those  bandages  concealed  it  was  a  painful  and  dreadful 
thing  to  me  to  see  a  Chinese  woman  walking.  In  spite  of 
the  hardness  of  the  flesh,  or  probably  because  of  it,  they  get 
bad  corns  on  the  spot  upon  which  they  balance,  and  sores, 
very  often  tuberculous,  eat  into  the  foot. 

But  the  evil  does  not  stop  at  the  foot.  In  Shansi  it  seemed 
to  me  every  woman's  face  was  marked  with  the  marks  of 
patient  suffering.  Travelling  I  often  got  a  glimpse  of  one 
peering  out  of  a  cart  or  litter  at  the  foreigner,  and  that  face 
invariably  was  patient,  pallid  and  worn,  for  foot-binding 
brings  no  end  of  evils  in  its  train.  The  doctor  at  Fen  Chou 
Fu  declared  that  nine-tenths  of  the  women  who  came  to  him 
for  treatment  suffered  from  tuberculosis  in  some  form  or 
another,  and  this  in  a  climate  that  in  the  winter  must  out- 
rival in  dryness  Davos  Platts.  Not  a  few,  too,  develop  spinal 
curvature  low  do"WTi  in  the  back,  and  often  because  of 
the  displacement  of  the  organs  they  die  in  child-birth.  A 
missionary  in  one  of  the  little  towns  I  passed  through,  a 
trained  nm'se,  told  me  that  when  a  woman  suffered  from 
what  she  {the  woman)  called  leg-waist  pains — ^the  doctor 
called  it  osteomalacia — her  case  was  hopeless,  she  could  not 
give  birth  to  a  child.  Often  this  nurse  had  been  called  in 
to  such  cases,  and  she  could  do  nothing  to  help  the  suffering 
girl.    She  could  only  stand  by  and  see  her  die.    I  could  well 


82  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

believe  these  tales  of  suffering.  In  Fen  Chou  Fu  and  in 
Pao  Ting  Fu  the  women  of  the  poorer  dasses  freely  walked 
the  streets,  and  their  crippled  condition  was  patent  to  all 
eyes.  But  in  some  towns  it  is  not  considered  seemly  for 
any  woman  to  be  seen  in  the  streets.  Some  reason  estab- 
lished this  custom  long  ago :  the  reason  passes,  but  China  is 
the  most  conservative  of  nations,  and  the  custom  remains. 
But  the  reason  for  foot-binding  is  not  very  clear.  There  is 
something  sexual  at  the  bottom  of  it,  I  believe,  but  why  a 
sick  and  ailing  woman  should  be  supposed  to  welcome  the 
embraces  of  her  lord  more  readily  than  one  abounding  in 
health  passes  my  understanding.  Of  course  we  remember 
that  not  so  very  long  ago,  in  the  reign  of  Victoria,  prac- 
tically the  delicate  woman  who  was  always  ailing  was  held 
up  to  universal  admiration.  Look  at  the  swooning  heroines 
of  Dickens  and  Thackeray.  But  let  no  man  put  the  com- 
pressed waist  on  the  same  plane  as  foot-binding.  I  have 
heard  more  than  one  man  do  so,  but  I  unhesitatingly  affirm 
they  are  WTong.  Foot-binding  is  infinitely  the  worse  crime. 
The  pinched-in  waist  did  not  begin  till  the  girl  was  at  least 
well  on  in  her  teens,  and  it  was  only  the  extreme  cases 
— and  they  did  it  of  their  own  free  will  I  presume — ^who 
kept  up  the  pressure  always.  There  was  always  the  night 
for  rest,  whereas  the  Chinese  women  get  no  rest  from  torture. 
The  missionaries  at  Fen  Chou  Fu,  being  very  anxious  to 
improve  the  status  of  the  women,  used  to  arrange  to  have 
lectures  in  their  large  hall  to  women  only,  and  they 
raked  the  country-side  for  important  people  to  address 
them  on  subjects  that  were,  or  rather  that  should  be, 
of  interest  to  women.  They  were  not  supposed  to  have 
anything  to  do  with  religion,  but  they  discussed  openly 
women's  position,  were  told  about  hygiene  and  the  care 
of  children,  and  the  magistrate's  wife,  she  who  had  been 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  !  "  88 

educated  in  Japan,  told  them  some  home-truths  about  the 
position  of  women  in  China. 

"  American  women,"  said  she  on  one  occasion,  "  go  out 
into  the  world  and  help  in  the  world's  development.  We 
Chinese  stay  at  home  and  are  dragged  along  by  the  men. 
The  time  has  come  when  we  must  learn  better  things." 

But  I  looked  one  day  at  over  seventy  women  of  the  richer 
classes  assembled  to  listen  to  a  young  and  enthusiastic 
Chinese  with  modern  views  on  the  position  of  women  and 
their  equality  with  men.  He  was  passionate,  he  was  eloquent, 
he  was  desperately  in  earnest,  but  it  was  very  evident  he 
spoke  to  deaf  ears.  I  do  not  think  that  any  one  of  those 
women  grasped,  or  cared  for  that  matter,  what  he  was 
saying.  In  the  heart  of  China  woman  is  very  far  from 
being  the  equal  of  man.  These  women  were  pets  and 
toys,  and  they  came  to  the  mission  station  probably  because 
it  was  the  fashionable  form  of  amusement  just  then,  but  they 
listened  to  what  was  being  said  with  deaf  ears  and  minds 
incapable  of  understanding.  They  were  gaily  clad  in  silks 
and  satins,  richly  embroidered  ;  their  hair  when  it  was 
abundant  was  oiled  and  elaborately  dressed  and  decorated 
with  gold  and  silver  pins,  and  when  it  was  scanty  was  hidden 
under  embroidered  silken  bands ;  there  was  not  a  skirt 
amongst  them,  that  was  left  to  the  lecturer,  their  blue  and 
green  and  brilliant  red  trousers  were  rather  narrow,  their 
feet  were  of  the  very  tiniest  even  in  Shansi,  and  their  faces, 
worn  and  suffering  under  their  paint  and  powder,  were 
vacant.  Some  of  them  had  brought  their  babies,  and  only 
when  a  child  cried,  and  they  cried  fairly  frequently,  did 
those  faces  light  up.  That  was  something  they  really  did 
understand. 

And  yet  that  enthusiastic  young  scholar  in  his  volumin- 
ous petticoats,  with  his  hair  cut  in  the  modem  fashion,  went 


84  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

on  lecturing  to  them  on  the  rights  of  women,  the  position 
women  ought  to  occupy  ! 

But  the  position  of  women  !  Toys  or  slaves  are  they, 
toys  and  slaves  have  been  their  mothers  and  their  grand- 
mothers since  the  days  before  the  dawn  of  history,  and  very, 
very  slowly  is  the  idea  of  the  possibility  of  better  things 
percolating  through  to  the  masses  in  China.  It  will  come, 
I  suppose,  because  already  there  are  Government  schools 
for  women,  though  they  are  few  and  far  between,  and  in 
some  places,  so  far  has  the  desire  for  freedom  gone,  the  girls 
have  banded  themselves  into  societies,  declaring  that  rather 
than  marry  a  man  they  have  never  seen  they  will  conmriit 
suicide,  and  more  than  one  has  taken  her  own  life.  But  in 
the  parts  of  Shansi  and  Chihli  where  I  was  so  much  light 
has  not  yet  penetrated.  The  wife  and  mother  has  influence 
because  any  living  thing  with  which  we  are  closely  associ- 
ated— even  if  it  be  but  a  little  dog — must  needs  mfluence 
us,  but  all  the  same  the  Chinese  women  are  as  a  rule  mere 
chattels,  dependent  entirely  upon  their  menfolk.  Amongst 
the  Chinese  the  five  happinesses  are :  old  age,  a  son,  riches, 
official  position  and  a  moustache ;  so  slight  a  tiling  is  a 
woman  that  she  does  not  come  in  in  this  connection. 

"  As  far  as  the  heavens  are  above  the  earth,  so  far  am  I," 
disdainfully  proclaimed  a  Chinese  teacher,  "  above  my  \nfe." 
And  he  only  spoke  as  if  stating  a  self-evident  fact,  a  thing 
that  could  not  be  questioned.  "  How  could  she  be  my 
equal  ?  "  Just  as  I  might  have  objected  to  being  put  on  the 
same  plane  as  my  mule  or  my  little  dog.  Indeed  I  doubt 
very  much  whether  he  gave  the  same  consideration  to  his 
wife  as  I  would  do  to  my  little  dog,  who  is  much  beloved. 

This  is  not  to  say,  of  course,  that  the  men  don't  consider 
the  women.    They  do. 

I  remember  the  gate-keeper  at  Pao  Ting  Fu  mission  paying 


"  mSERERE  DOMINE  !  "  85 

up  for  his  daughter's  schooling.  He  was  a  jovial  old  soul, 
so  old  that  I  was  surprised  to  hear  he  had  a  mother. 

"  Short  am  I  ?  "  said  he  cheerfully.  "  Short  ?  Oh,  that 
dollar  and  a  half  !  "  He  paused  to  consider  the  matter,  then 
added  :  "  And  I  was  thinking  about  borrowing  a  dollar 
from  you.  My  mother's  dying,  and  I  want  to  buy  her  a 
skirt !     Must  be  prepared,  you  know  !  " 

The  old  lady,  said  Miss  Newton,  had  probably  never  owned 
such  a  luxury  as  a  skirt  in  her  life,  but  that  was  her  son's 
way  of  being  good  to  her,  for  the  people  have  a  proverb 
to  the  effect  that  the  most  important  thing  in  life  is  to  be 
buried  well,  an  idea  that  isn't  entirely  unknown  in  Western 
and  more  enlightened  lands.  Poor  old  lady,  whose  one  and 
only  skirt  came  to  her  to  be  buried  in,  or  perhaps  it  would 
be  taken  off  before  she  was  buried,  for  the  Chinese  are  a 
careful  people.  I  remember  one  frugal  man  who  celebrated 
the  funeral  of  his  mother  and  the  marriage  of  his  son  at 
the  same  time,  so  that  the  funeral  baked  meats  did  for  the 
marriage  feast,  and  the  same  musicians  did  for  both.  The 
coffin,  of  heavy  black  wood,  tall  as  a  mantelpiece,  stood  in 
the  yard,  with  the  eldest  son  and  his  wife  clad  in  white  as 
mourners,  and  the  rest  of  the  company  made  merry  in  the 
house  over  the  bridal.  It  was  the  most  exquisite  piece  of 
thrift,  but  the  Chinaman  is  par  excellence  an  economist. 

It  was  in  Pao  Ting  Fu  that  I  met  the  only  woman  who 
made  open  complaint  against  the  position  of  women,  and 
she  only  did  it  because,  poor  thing,  she  was  driven  to  it. 

She  slipped  through  the  mission  compound  gate  while 
the  gate-keeper  was  looking  the  other  way,  a  miserable, 
unkempt  woman  vnth  roughened  hair  and  maimed  feet. 
Her  coat  and  trousers  of  the  poorest  blue  cotton  were  old 
and  soiled,  and  the  child  she  carried  in  her  arms  was  naked 
save  for  a  little  square  of  blue  cotton  tied  round  his  body 


86  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

in  front.  She  was  simply  a  woman  of  the  people,  deadly 
poor  where  all  just  escape  starvation,  young  and  comely 
where  many  are  unattractive,  and  she  stood  under  the  shade 
of  the  trees  watching  eagerly  the  mission  family  and  their 
guest  at  breakfast  on  the  porch !  It  was  a  Jime  morning, 
the  sunshine  that  would  be  too  fierce  later  on  now  at 
7  A.M.  was  golden,  and  a  gentle  breeze  just  whispered  softly 
in  the  branches  that  China — even  Pao  Ting  Fu — in  the  early 
summer  morning  was  a  delightful  place. 

But  eager  watching  eyes  glued  to  every  mouthful  are 
distinctly  disquieting,  and  in  China,  the  land  of  punctilious 
etiquette,  are  rude.  Besides,  she  had  no  business  to  be  there, 
and  the  doctor's  wife  turned  and  spoke  to  her. 

"  What  custom  is  this  ?  "  said  she,  using  the  vernacular, 
**  and  how  did  you  get  in  here  ?  " 

"  I  ran  past " — ran,  save  the  mark,  with  those  poor  broken 
cramped  feet — "  when  the  gate-keeper  was  not  looking.  And 
it's  not  a  day's  hunger  I  have.  For  weeks  when  we  have  had  a 
meal  we  have  not  known  where  the  next  was  coming  from." 

"  But  you  have  a  husband  ?  " 

*'  And  he  was  rich,"  assented  the  woman,  "  but  he  has 
gambled  it  all  away." 

It  was  quite  a  likely  story.  Another  woman  working  on 
the  compound  said  it  was  true.  She  had  a  bad  husband — 
hi  yah  !  a  very  bad  husband.  He  beat  her,  often  he  beat 
her.  Sometimes  perhaps  it  was  her  fault,  because  she  was 
bad-tempered.  Who  would  not  be  bad-tempered  with 
maimed  feet,  an  empty  stomach  and  two  little  hungry 
children  ?  But  often  he  beat  her  for  no  reason  at  all.  And 
everyone  knows  that  a  Chinese  husband  has  a  perfect  right 
to  beat  his  wife.  That  he  refrains  from  so  doing  is  an  act 
of  grace  on  his  part,  but  a  woman  of  herself  is  merely  his 
chattel.    She  has  no  rights. 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  "  87 

The  hospital  quilted  bed-covers — pei  wos,  they  called  them 
— had  to  be  unripped  and  washed.  The  pay  was  twenty-five 
fung  tzus  a  day  and  keep  yourself.  One  hundred  and  thirty 
fung  izus  went  to  the  dollar,  and  10-35  dollars  went  to  the 
sovereign  at  that  time,  so  that  the  work  could  not  be  con- 
sidered overpaid  ;  but  this  was  China,  and  the  women  were 
apparently  rising  up  out  of  the  ground  and  clamouring  for 
it.  It  was  evidently  looked  upon  as  quite  a  recreation  to 
sit  under  the  trees  on  the  grass  in  the  mission  compound 
and  gossip  and  unpick  quilts.  The  new  recruit  joined  them 
and  spent  a  happy  day,  sure  of  food  for  herself  and  her 
children  for  that  day  at  least — not  food  perhaps  such  as 
we  would  appreciate,  but  at  least  a  sufficiency  of  millet 
porridge. 

That  day  and  the  next  she  worked,  and  then  on  the  third 
day  at  midday  she  went  away  for  her  meal  and  did  not  come 
back  till  after  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon.  The  doctor's 
wife  was  reproachful. 

"  You  have  been  away  for  over  three  hours.  Why  is 
this  ?  " 

She  was  a  true  Chinese  and  found  it  difficult  to  give  a 
direct  answer. 

"  I  have  been  talking  to  my  mother,"  said  she,  rousing 
wrath  where  she  might  have  gained  sympathy. 

"  What  excuse  is  this  ?  "  said  the  doctor's  wife.  "  You  go 
away,  and  when  I  ask  you  why,  you  tell  me  you  have  been 
talking  to  your  mother  !  Your  mother  should  have  more 
sense  than  to  keep  you  from  your  work  !  " 

"  But  my  husband  has  sold  me  !  "  protested  the  culprit 
and  then  we  saw  that  her  face  was  swollen  with  crying ; 
"  and  I  am  a  young  woman  and  I  don't  know  what  to  do 
when  my  husband  sells  me.     He  keeps  the  children  and  he 
sells  me,  and  Tsao,  the  man  who  has  bought  me,  is  a  bad 


88  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

man,"  and  dropping  down  to  the  ground  she  let  the  tears 
fall  on  to  the  work  in  her  hands. 

"  I  am  young  and  so  I  don't  know  what  to  do."  It  was 
the  burden  of  her  song.  It  may  be  she  is  wailing  still,  for 
the  story  was  unfinished  when  I  left.  She  was  young  and 
she  didn't  know  what  to  do.  She  would  not  have  minded 
leaving  her  husband  if  only  the  man  to  whom  she  had  been 
sold  had  been  a  better  man,  but  he  bore  a  worse  reputation 
if  anything  than  her  husband,  and  ignorant,  unlearned  in 
all  things  of  this  world  as  she  was,  she  and  the  women  round 
her  knew  exactly  wliat  her  fate  would  be.  Tsao  would 
sell  her  when  he  tired  of  her,  and  her  next  purchaser  would 
do  likewise,  and  as  she  gets  older  and  her  white  teeth  decay 
and  her  bright  eyes  fade  and  her  comeliness  wanes  her 
money  value  will  grow  less  and  less,  and  beating  and  starva- 
tion will  be  her  portion  till  death  comes  as  a  merciful  release. 
But,  as  she  kept  repeating  pathetically,  she  is  young,  and 
death  is  the  goal  at  the  end  of  a  weary,  weary,  heart- 
breaking road. 

For  her  husband  was  quite  within  his  rights.  He  could 
sell  her.  It  may  be,  of  course,  he  will  be  swayed  by  public 
opinion,  and  public  opinion  is  against  the  disposing  of  a 
wife  after  this  fashion. 

"  Let  her  complain  to  the  official,"  suggested  my  assurance. 

But  the  wise  women  who  knew  rose  up  in  horror  at  the 
depths  of  ignorance  I  was  disclosing. 

"  Go  to  the  yamen  and  complain  of  her  husband  !  " 

It  is  no  crime  for  a  man  to  sell  his  wife,  but  it  is  a  deadly 
crime  for  a  woman  to  speak  evil  of  her  husband  1  She  was 
not  yet  handed  over.  All  he  would  have  to  do  would  be  to 
deny  it,  and  then  she  would  be  convicted  of  this  crime  and 
to  her  other  ills  would  be  added  the  wrath  of  the  official. 
No,  something  better  than  that  must  be  thought  of. 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  !  "  89 

She  had  been  sold  for  a  hundred  tiaau — something  under 
four  pounds — and  when  the  money  was  paid  she  would  have 
to  go  to  her  new  master,  far  away  from  all  her  friends. 

"  Hi  yah !  "  said  the  other  women.  "  What  a  bad  man !  " 
So  public  opinion  was  against  it ! 

It  would  do  no  good  to  buy  her  freedom  unless  the  pur- 
chaser were  prepared  to  take  upon  himself  the  conduct  of 
her  future  life.  A  woman  must  belong  to  somebody  in 
China ;  she  is,  except  in  very  exceptional  cases  and  among 
the  very  advanced,  considered  incapable  of  guiding  her  own 
life,  and  pay  this  and  the  man  would  still  regard  her  as  his 
wife  and  sell  her  again. 

Then  a  woman  wise  with  wisdom  of  the  people  arose. 

"  There  is  only  one  thing  to  be  done,"  said  she ;  "  you 
must  pretend  you  know  nothing  about  it,  and  when  Tsao 
comes,  and  you  are  sold,  then  make  an  excuse  and  run  to 
the  yamen.  It  may  be  the  official  will  help,  for  it  is  a  wicked 
thing." 

"  Run  to  the  yamen ! "  on  feet  on  which  she  could 
just  totter.  But  the  wise  woman  had  taken  that  into 
consideration. 

"  Mark  well  the  way  so  you  may  hide  in  the  turnings.'* 

Such  a  forlorn,  pitiful  little  hope  !  But  with  it  she  had 
to  be  content,  and  that  night  she  held  her  peace  and  pre- 
tended she  did  not  know  the  fate  that  hung  over  her,  and 
when  I  left  she  was  still  ripping  bed-covers  with  the  other 
women.  She  had  had  no  hand  in  bringing  about  her  own 
fate,  for  she  did  not  choose  this  man.  She  had  never  seen 
him  till  she  was  handed  over  on  her  marriage  day  by  her 
parents. 

"  What,"  said  the  women  at  one  place  when  a  new 
missionary  came  to  them,  "  forty  and  not  married  !  ^Vhat 
freedom  !    How  did  you  manage  it !    WTiat  good  fortune  !  " 


90  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

In  China  there  is  no  respectable  word,  so  I  am  told,  to 
denote  a  bachelor,  and  there  was  almost  never,  at  least  under 
the  old  regime,  such  a  thing  as  an  old  maid.  Every  woman 
must  belong  to  someone,  and  few  and  far  between  are  the 
families  that  can  afford  to  keep  unmarried  daughters,  so 
the  women  regard  as  eminently  fortunate  those  foreign 
women  they  come  across,  missionary  or  otherwise,  who  are 
apparently  free  to  guide  their  own  lives. 

Of  com^e  the  average  husband  would  no  more  think  of 
selling  his  wife  than  would  an  Englishman,  but,  unlike  the 
Englishman,  he  knows  that  he  has  the  right  to  do  so  should 
he  so  please,  even  as  he  has  the  right  of  life  and  death  over 
her  and  his  children.  She  is  his  chattel,  to  be  faithful  to  her 
would  simply  be  foolishness.  ^ 

They  tell  a  story  of  an  angry  father  found  digging  a  hole 
in  which  he  proposed  to  bury  his  son  alive.  That  son  had 
been  insolent,  and  it  was  a  terrible  thing  to  have  an  insolent 
son.  His  mother  wept,  but  to  her  tears  the  father  paid  no 
heed.  A  stranger  passed  along  and  questioned  the  little 
company,  and  finding  in  his  heart  pity  for  the  woman  and 
the  lad,  cast  about  how  he  might  help  them.  He  did  not 
set  about  it  as  we  of  the  West  would  have  done. 

He  commiserated  with  the  father.  It  was  a  terrible 
thing  to  have  an  insolent  son.  Undoubtedly  he  deserved 
death.  But  it  would  be  a  bad  thing  to  have  no  son  to 
worship  at  the  ancestral  tablet. 

That  was  provided  for,  said  the  irate  parent.  He  had 
two  other  sons. 

That  was  well  1  That  was  well !  And  of  course  they  had 
sons? 

No,  they  were  young.    They  had  no  sons  yet. 

A-a-ah  !  And  suppose  anything  happened  by  which  they 
both  should  die  ? 


"  MISERERE  DOMINE  !  »  VI 

The  stranger  let  that  sink  in.  He  had  struck  the  right 
chord.  It  would  be  a  terrible  thing  to  have  no  son  to 
worship  at  the  ancestral  tablet — ^to  think  that  he  by  his 
own  act 

Chinese  reasoning  prevailed,  and  the  son's  life  was  spared. 

And  yet  the  Chinese  are  fond  of  their  children  and,  accord- 
ing to  their  lights,  good  to  their  wives.  It  is  that  under  the 
patriarchal  system  children  and  women — a  woman  is  always 
a  child,  a  very  ignorant  child  as  a  rule — have  no  rights. 
They  are  dependent  upon  the  good  will  of  their  owners. 

And  so  the  woman  sitting  waiting  to  see  if  her  husband 
would  complete  the  bargain  and  sell  her  had  no  rights.  She 
was  just  a  chattel  in  the  eye  of  the  law.  And  there  was 
none  to  help.  Miserere  Domine  !  It  was  just  possible  public 
opinion  would  save  her.  It  was  her  only  hope.  Miserere 
Domine  !    Miserere  Domine  ! 

In  Fen  Chou  Fu  the  missionaries  had  started  an  adult 
school  for  women.  First  it  was  started,  as  they  themselves 
put  it,  to  teach  the  Gospel,  but  then  wisely  they  extended  it 
and  taught  reading,  \M'iting  and  arithmetic,  and  very  eager 
indeed  were  the  pupils.  It  is  only  fair  to  say  that  very  often 
husbands,  or  possibly  fathers-in-law — ^for  a  woman  belongs 
to  the  head  of  her  husband's  family,  or  at  least  owes  allegi- 
ance to  him — aided  and  abetted  in  every  way,  and  when 
necessary  sent  the  pupils  twenty  and  thirty  miles  in  carts 
and  in  litters  from  away  in  the  mountains  to  attend.  One 
woman  with  four  little  children,  all  under  five,  with  another 
coming,  was  a  most  eager  pupil.  Her  children  were  sent  to 
the  kindergarten,  which  is  in  charge  of  a  young  Chinese 
teacher  educated  by  the  missionaries. 

Again  I  do  not  say  the  Chinese  are  not  doing  something 
to  ameliorate  the  condition  of  their  women.  I  can  only 
speak  of  what  I  saw,  and  what  I  saw  was,  here  in  Shansi,  the 


92  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

wives  of  the  most  miserable  peasants  sunk  in  ignorance  and 
hardly  able  to  crawl  from  the  k^angs  on  which  they  spent 
their  lives.  The  men  do  the  cooking  because  the  women  are 
incapable,  and  the  mortality  among  the  children  is  terrible. 
A  doctor  told  me  that  very  often  he  had  attended  a  woman 
at  the  birth  of  her  thirteenth  or  fourteenth  child  and  only 
one  or  two  would  be  living  ! 

I  don't  know  how  many  wives  or  concubines  a  man  is 
allowed.  Only  the  first  one  has  any  standing,  and  the 
number  of  the  others  is  probably  limited  by  his  means. 
I  remember  hearing  of  one  man,  a  Mr  Feng,  who  had  just 
married  his  second  wife  to  another  man  because  she  was 
making  his  life  too  miserable  for  him.  This  was  the  man's 
side  of  the  story ;  I  had  heard  the  woman's  the  last  time. 
I  wonder  how  the  case  is  put  on  these  occasions.  Does 
a  man  say  he  is  parting  with  the  lady  with  extreme  regret 
because  the  climate  does  not  suit  her,  or  because  his  first 
wife  does  not  like  her,  or  because  a  sudden  reverse  of  fortune 
has  compelled  him  to  reduce  his  household  ?  He  surely 
would  never  have  given  the  real  reason.  My  friend  Mr 
Farrer  waxes  enthusiastic  over  things  Chinese,  but  I  must 
say  what  I  have  seen  of  their  domestic  life  repels  me,  and 
I  am  rather  inclined  to  agree  with  a  missionary  of  my 
acquaintance — a  bachelor  though — that  it  would  give 
nervous  prostration  to  a  brazen  statue. 

There  can  be  little  happiness  where  there  is  ignorance, 
and  the  majority  of  the  women  of  Shansi  anyhow  are  the 
ignorant  slaves  of  ignorant  slaves.    Miserere  Domine  ! 


CHAPTER  VI 

BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER 

Setting  out  on  a  long  journey  by  road,  moving  along  slowly, 
at  the  rate  of  thirty  miles  a  day,  I  find  I  do  not  have  the  end 
in  view  in  my  mind  all  the  time.  I  do  subconsciously,  of 
course,  or  I  would  never  get  on  at  all,  but  I  take  a  point 
a  couple  of  days  ahead  and  concentrate  on  getting  there. 
Having  arrived  so  far,  I  am  so  pleased  with  the  performance 
I  can  concentrate  on  the  next  couple  of  days  ahead.  So  I 
pass  on  comfortably,  with  the  invigorating  feeling  of  some- 
thing accomplished. 

Fen  Chou  Fu,  then,  was  one  of  my  jumping-off  places. 

And  at  Fen  Chou  Fu  my  muleteers  began  to  complain. 
Looked  at  fi-om  a  Western  point  of  view,  they  ought  to  have 
complained  long  before,  but  their  complaint  was  not  what 
I  expected.  They  sent  my  interpreter  to  say  we  were  going 
the  wTong  way.  This  road  would  lead  us  out  into  a  great 
bare  place  of  sand.  When  the  wind  blew  it  would  raise 
the  sand  in  great  clouds  that  would  overwhelm  us,  and  if 
the  clouds  gathered  in  the  sky  we  should  not  be  able  to  see 
the  sim,  we  wotdd  not  know  in  which  direction  to  go  and 
we  should  perish  miserably.  And  having  supplied  me  Avith 
tliis  valuable  and  sinister  information  they  stood  back  to 
watch  it  sink  in. 

It  didn't  have  the  damping  and  depressing  effect  they 

doubtless  expected.    To  begin  with,  I  couldn't  believe  in  a 

Chinese  sky  where  you  couldn't  see  the  sun.     The  clouds 

might  gather,  but  a  few  hours  would  suffice  to  disperse  them, 

93 


94  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

in  my  experience,  and  as  for  losing  om^elves  in  the  sand — 
well,  I  couldn't  believe  it  possible.  Always  in  Cliina,  where- 
ever  I  had  been,  there  had  been  plenty  of  people  of  whom 
to  ask  the  way,  and  though  every  man's  radius  was  doubtless 
short,  still  at  every  yard  there  was  somebody.  It  was  like 
an  endless  chain. 

"  Don't  they  want  to  go  ?  "  I  asked  Mr  Wang. 

"  Repeat,  please,"  said  he,  according  to  the  approved 
formula. 

"  Won't  they  go  ?  "  I  felt  I  had  better  have  the  matter 
clear. 

"  You  say  '  Go,'  mus'  go.     You  fear — you  no  go." 

If  I  feared  and  wouldn't  go  on,  I  grasped,  the  money  I 
paid  them  would  be  forfeit. 

"  But  I  must  go.     I  am  not  afraid." 

"  They  say  you  go  by  Hsi  An  Fu.  That  be  ploper." 
And  the  listening  muleteers  smiled  at  me  blandly. 

"  But  I  cannot  go  by  Hsi  An  Fu  because  of  White  Wolf." 
I  did  not  say  that  also  it  would  be  going  round  two  sides  of  a 
triangle  because  that  would  not  appeal  to  the  Chinese  mind. 

"  They  not  knowing  Wliite  Wolf,"  said  Mr  Wang,  shaking 
his  head. 

"  Well,  I  know  White  Wolf,"  I  said,  departing  a  little  from 
the  truth,  "  and  I  am  going  across  the  river  to  Sui  Te  Chou." 

"  You  say  '  Go,'  "  said  Mr  Wang  sorrowfully,  "  mus'  go," 
and  he  looked  at  the  muleteers,  and  the  muleteers  looked  at 
him  sorrowfully  and  went  off  the  verandah  sorroAvfully  to 
prepare  for  the  lonely  road  where  there  would  be  no  people 
of  whom  to  ask  the  way,  only  sand  and  no  sun. 

There  was  plenty  of  sun  when  we  started.  It  was  a 
glorious  summer  morning  when  my  little  caravan  went  out 
of  the  northern  gate  into  the  mountains  that  threatened  the 
town.    It  was  unknown  China  now,  China  as  she  was  in  the 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  95 

time  of  the  Caesars,  further  back  still  in  the  time  of  the 
Babylonish  kings,  in  the  days  before  the  first  dynasty  in 
Egypt.  Out  through  the  northern  gate  we  went,  by  the 
clay-walled  northern  suburb,  past  great  ash-heaps  like  little 
mountain  ranges,  the  refuse  of  centuries,  their  softly  rounded 
sides  now  tinged  with  the  green  of  springtime,  and  almost 
at  once  my  caravan  was  at  the  foot  of  the  hiUs — hills  carved 
into  terraces  by  the  daily  toil  of  thousands,  but  looking 
as  if  they  had  been  so  carved  by  some  giant  hand.  As  we 
entered  them  as  hills  they  promptly  disappeared,  for  the 
road  was  sunken,  and  high  over  our  heads  rose  the  steep 
clay  walls,  shutting  out  all  view  save  the  bright  strip  of  blue 
sky  above. 

I  here  put  it  on  record — I  believe  I  have  done  it  before, 
but  it  really  cannot  be  repeated  too  often — that  as  a  con- 
veyance a  mule  litter  leaves  much  to  be  desired.  Sitting 
up  there  on  my  bedding  among  my  cushions,  with  James 
Buchanan  beside  me,  I  was  much  nore  comfortable  than  I 
should  have  been  in  a  Peking  cart,  but  also  I  was  much  more 
helpless.  A  driver  did  take  charge  of  the  Peking  cart,  but 
the  gentleman  who  sometimes  led  my  mule  litter  more  often 
felt  that  things  were  safer  in  the  charge  of  the  big  white 
mule  in  front,  and  when  the  way  was  extremely  steep  or 
rough  he  abandoned  it  entirely  to  its  discretion.  The 
missionaries  had  told  me  whenever  I  came  to  a  bad  place 
to  be  sure  and  get  out,  because  the  Chinese  mules  are  not 
surefooted  enough  to  be  always  trusted.  They  are  quite 
likely  at  a  bad  place  to  slip  and  go  over.  This  was  a  cheering 
reflection  when  I  found  myself  at  the  bad  place  abandoned 
to  the  tender  mercies  of  those  animals.  The  mule  in  the 
lead  certainly  was  a  capable  beast,  but  again  and  again, 
as  I  told  Mr  Wang,  I  would  have  preferred  tliat  the  muleteers 
should  not  put  quite  so  much  faith  in  him.    I  learned  to  say 


96  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

"  B-r-nr,  b-r-r-nr !  "  when  I  wanted  him  to  stop,  but  I  did 
not  like  to  say  it  often,  because  I  felt  in  a  critical  moment 
I  might  seriously  hamper  him  to  my  own  disadvantage.  I 
told  ]Mr  Wang  I  was  to  be  lifted  out  when  we  came  to  bad 
places,  but  that  too  was  hardly  practicable,  for  we  came  to 
many  places  that  I  certainly  could  not  have  negotiated  on 
my  own  feet,  and  how  the  mules  got  a  cumbersome  litter 
down  or  up  them  passes  my  understanding.  Thinking  it 
over,  the  only  advice  I  can  give  to  anyone  who  wishes  to 
follow  in  my  footsteps  is  to  shut  his  eyes  as  I  did  and  trust 
to  the  mule.  And  we  went  down  some  places  that  were 
calculated  to  take  the  curl  out  of  my  hair. 

James  Buchanan  was  a  great  comfort  to  me  under  these 
circumstances.  He  nestled  down  beside  me — he  had  re- 
covered from  his  accident  before  we  left  Fen  Chou  Fu — and 
he  always  assured  me  that  everything  would  be  all  right. 
One  thing  he  utterly  declined  to  do,  and  that  was  to  walk 
with  the  servants.  I  used  to  think  it  would  be  good  for  his 
health,  but  the  wisdom  of  the  little  pekinese  at  the  British 
American  Tobacco  Factory  had  sunk  in  deep  and  he  declined 
to  trust  himself  with  them  unless  I  walked  too,  when  he  was 
wild  with  delight.  Put  out  by  himself,  he  would  raise  a 
pitiful  wail. 

"  Buchanan  declines,"  Mr  Wang  would  say  sententiously, 
and  he  would  be  lifted  back  into  the  litter  by  my  master  of 
transport  as  if  he  were  a  prince  of  the  blood  at  least.  And 
if  anyone  thinks  I  make  an  absurd  fuss  about  a  little  dog, 
I  must  remind  him  that  I  was  entirely  alone  among  an  alien 
people,  and  the  little  dog's  affection  meant  a  tremendous 
deal  to  me.  He  took  away  all  sense  of  loneliness.  Ix)oking 
back,  I  know  now  I  could  not  have  gone  on,  this  book  would 
never  have  been  written,  if  it  had  not  been  for  James 
Buchanan. 


VILLAGE  STREET. 


LITTER  WITH   PACK.  SADDLE  ACROSS  IT  IN  INN  YARD. 


VILLAGE  STREET. 


PACK  SADDLES  OUTSIDE  AN  INN. 


See  page    1 03 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  97 

Roiiglily  the  way  to  the  Yellow  River  is  through  a  chain 
of  mountains,  across  a  stony  plateau  in  the  centre  of  which 
is  situated  Yung  Ning  Chou,  quite  a  busy  commercial  city, 
and  across  another  chain  of  mountains  through  which  the 
river  forces  its  way.  When  first  I  entered  the  ditch  in 
the  loess  my  objective  was  Yung  Ning  Chou.  I  looked  no 
farther.  I  wanted  to  get  to  that  to\Mi  in  which  seven 
Scandinavian  missionaries  in  twenty  years  had  not  effected 
a  single  convert.  The  cliffs  fro^\^led  overhead,  and  the  effect 
to  me  was  of  wandering  along  an  extremely  stony  way  with 
many  pitfalls  in  it  to  the  chiming  of  many  mule  bells  and  an 
unceasing  shouting  of  "  Ta,  ta  !  " — ^that  is,  "  Beat,  beat !  " — a 
threat  by  which  the  muleteer  exhorts  his  animals  to  do  their 
best.  Generally  speaking,  I  couldn't  see  the  man  who  had 
charge  of  me  because  he  was  some  way  behind  and  the  tilt 
shut  him  from  my  view.  Except  for  knowing  that  he  was 
attending  to  his  job  and  looking  after  me,  I  don't  know  that 
I  pined  to  look  upon  him.  His  appearance  was  calculated 
to  make  me  feel  I  liad  not  wakened  from  a  nightmare. 
Sometimes  he  wore  a  dirty  rag  over  his  head,  but  just  as 
often  he  went  in  his  plain  beauty  unadorned — that  is  to  say, 
\\4th  all  the  front  part  of  his  head  shaven  and  the  back  a 
mass  of  wild  coarse  black  hair  standing  out  at  all  angles. 
They  had  cut  off  his  queue  during  the  reforming  fever  at 
T'ai  Yuan  Fu  and  I  presume  he  was  doing  the  best  he  could 
till  it  should  grow  again.  Certainly  it  was  an  awe-inspiring 
headpiece. 

And  always  we  progressed  to  the  clashing  of  bells,  for  on 
everj'  possible  point  on  the  trappings  of  the  four  mules  and 
the  donkey  that  made  up  the  caravan  and  on  ever}^  available 
point  on  the  harness  of  every  mule  and  donkey  that  passed 
us  was  a  brass  bell.  For,  for  all  my  muleteers  had  objected 
to  going  this  way,  it  was  a  caravan  route  to  the  West,  and 

G 


98  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

it  was  seldom  we  did  not  see  someone  on  the  road.  Here  in 
this  ditch  in  the  loess  I  realised  the  stern  necessity  for  these 
bells,  for  often  the  way  was  narrow  and  when  we  could 
hear  another  caravan  coming  we  could  make  arrangements 
to  pass  or  to  allow  them  to  pass.  There  were  many  caravans 
of  ragged  camels,  and  to  these  my  animals  objected  with  all 
the  spirit  a  life  on  the  roads  had  still  left  in  them.  When  we 
met  a  string  of  them  at  close  quarters  in  the  loess  my  white 
mule  in  the  lead  nearly  had  hysterics,  and  his  feelings  were 
shared,  so  I  judged  by  the  behavioiir  of  the  litter,  by  his 
companion  behind,  and  they  both  endeavoured  to  commit 
suicide  by  climbing  the  bank,  having  no  respect  whatever 
for  my  feelings. 

On  these  occasions,  with  clenched  teeth  and  concentrated 
energy,  my  muleteer  addressed  himself  to  that  leading  mule  : 

"  Now  !  Who's  your  mother  ?  You  may  count  yourself 
as  dead  !  " 

The  mule  evidently  felt  this  was  serious  and  made  a 
desperate  endeavour  to  get  a  little  higher,  and  his  attendant 
became  sarcastic. 

*'  Call  yourself  a  mule  !     Call  yourself  a  lord,  sir  !  " 

By  the  jangling  of  the  beUs  and  the  yells  of  the  rest  of 
the  company  I  knew  that  the  other  animals  felt  equally  bad, 
and  more  than  once  I  saw  my  luckless  interpreter,  who 
evidently  was  not  much  of  a  hand  at  sitting  on  a  pack, 
ruefully  picking  himself  up  and  shaking  the  dust  from  his 
person,  his  mule  having  flung  him  .as  a  protest  against  the 
polluting  of  the  road  by  a  train  of  camels. 

The  camels  march  along  with  a  very  supercilious  air,  but 
mules,  horses  and  donkeys  all  fear  them  so  much  that 
there  are  special  inns  for  them  and  they  are  supposed  only 
to  travel  by  night,  but  this  rule  is  more  honoured,  I  imagine, 
in  the  breach  tlian  in  the  observance.     Most  parts  of  the 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  99 

road  I  don't  see  that  any  caravan  could  pass  along  at  night. 
The  special  inns  do  not  present  any  difference  to  my  un- 
prejudiced eyes  from  the  discomfort  of  an  ordinary  mule 
and  donkey  inn.  I  stopped  at  one  one  day  in  the  loess  for 
tiffin,  and  it  consisted  of  a  courtyard  round  which  were 
rooms  iyaos)  that  were  simply  caves  with  the  mouths  bricked 
up  and  doors  in  them.  Inside,  the  caves  were  dark  and 
airless,  with  for  all  furniture  the  universal,  k'ang  ;  a  fireplace 
is  either  in  the  middle  or  at  one  of  the  ends,  and  the  flues 
underneath  carry  the  hot  air  under  the  k'ang  to  warm  it. 
I  have  never  before  or  since  seen  such  miserable  dwelling- 
places  as  these  yaos,  and  in  the  loess  country  I  saw  hundreds 
of  them,  inhabitated  by  thousands  of  people.  Wu  Ch'eng 
particularly  commended  itself  to  my  notice  because  here  I 
first  realised  that  in  expecting  a  room  to  myself  I  was  asking 
too  much  of  the  country. 

We  crossed  the  mountain  pass  the  first  day  out  of  Fen 
Chou  Fu.  Steep  it  was,  steep  as  the  roof  of  a  house,  and  we 
scrambled  down  the  other  side  and,  just  as  the  dusk  was 
falling,  we  came  to  Wu  Ch'eng,  a  village  mostly  of  yaos  in 
the  mountain-side.  Wu  Ch'eng,  where  hundreds  of  people 
live  and  die,  was  short  of  most  tilings  that  make  life  worth 
living :  water  was  very  scarce  indeed,  and  there  were  no 
eggs  there.  It  was  necessary  that  om-  little  company  should 
move  on  with  what  speed  we  might.  Also  the  inn  only  had 
one  room. 

"  The  k'a7ig  is  large,"  said  my  interpreter,  as  if  he  thought 
that  a  woman  who  would  come  out  on  this  journey  would 
not  mind  sharing  that  k'ang  with  all  the  other  guests,  the 
innkeeper  and  his  servants.  It  was  rather  large.  I  looked 
into  an  earthen  cave  the  end  of  which,  about  thirty  feet 
away,  I  could  hardly  make  out  in  the  dim  light.  There  wei'e 
great  cobwebs  lianging  from  the  ceiling — dimly  I  saw  them 


100  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

by  the  light  that  filtered  through  the  dirty  paper  that  did 
duty  for  a  window — and  the  high  k'ang  occupied  the  whole 
length  of  the  room,  leaving  a  narrow  passage  with  hard- 
beaten  earth  for  a  floor  about  two  feet  wide  between  the 
k^ang  and  the  left-hand  wall.  It  was  about  as  uninviting 
a  room  as  I  have  ever  seen.  Also  it  was  clearly  impossible 
that  Buchanan  and  I  should  turn  out  the  rest  of  the  com- 
pany, so  I  decreed  that  I  should  have  it  to  myself  for  half- 
an-hour  for  the  pm^oses  of  washing  and  changing,  for  which 
privilege  I  paid  about  twenty  cash,  roughly  a  ha'penny,  and 
then  we  slept  in  the  litter,  as  we  did  on  many  other  occasions, 
outside  in  the  yard  among  the  donkeys  and  mules.  The 
last  thing  I  saw  was  the  bright  stars  peeping  down  at  me, 
and  the  last  thing  I  heard  was  the  mules  muncliing  at  their 
well-earned  chaff,  and  I  wakened  to  the  same  stars  and  the 
same  sounds,  for  early  retiring  is  conducive  to  early  rising, 
and  yet  the  muleteers  were  always  before  me  and  were 
feeding  their  beasts.  Always  I  went  through  the  same 
routine.  I  went  to  bed  despairing  and  disgusted  and  a 
little  afraid.  I  slept  like  the  dead,  if  I  slept  outside,  and  I 
wakened  to  watch  the  sun  rise  and  rene^v  my  hopes. 

There  are  hundreds,  probably  thousands,  of  villages  like 
Wu  Ch'eng  in  Cliina.  The  winter  in  Shansi  in  the  mountains 
is  Arctic  and  no  words  can  describe  what  must  be  the  suffer- 
ings of  these  people ;  especially  must  the  women  suffer, 
for  the  poorest  peasant  binds  his  daughter's  feet,  his  wife 
can  hardly  crawl.  In  Chihli  you  may  see  the  women  totter- 
ing round  on  their  stumps  grinding  the  corn,  in  Shansi 
lucky  is  the  woman  who  can  do  so  much.  The  ordinary 
peasant  woman  is  equal  to  nothing  but  a  httle  needlework, 
if  she  have  anything  to  sew,  or  to  making  a  Uttle  porridge, 
if  she  can  do  so  without  moving  off  the  k'atig. 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  101 

The  getting  something  for  the  men  to  cook  must  be  a  hard 
job.  Potatoes  are  sold  singly,  other  vegetables  are  cut  in 
halves  or  quarters,  a  fowl  is  always  sold  by  the  joint.  There 
may  be  people  who  do  buy  a  whole  fowl,  but  they  are  prob- 
ably millionaires.  I  suppose  a  whole  section  of  a  community 
could  not  possibly  exist  on  other  folks'  old  clothes,  but  that 
is  how  the  people  of  this  part  of  Shansi  looked  as  if  they  were 
clothed.  They  had  not  second-hand  clothes  or  third-hand, 
they  were  apparently  the  remnants  that  the  third  buyer 
could  find  no  use  for. 

I  shall  never  forget  on  one  occasion  seeing  a  ragged  scare- 
crow bearing  on  the  end  of  a  pole  a  dead  dog,  not  even  an 
ordinary  dead  dog,  but  one  all  over  sores,  a  most  disgustingly 
diseased  specimen.  I  asked  Mr  Wang  what  he  was  carrying 
that  dog  away  for  and  that  young  gentleman  looked  at 
me  in  surprise.  He  would  never  get  to  the  bottom  of  this 
foolish  foreigner. 

"  For  eat,"  said  he  simply ! 

The  people  of  the  loess  cannot  afford  to  waste  anything 
save  the  health  of  their  women.  A  dog,  a  wonk,  shares  the 
scavenging  work  of  the  Chinese  towns  with  the  black  and 
white  crows,  and  doubtless  the  citizens  do  not  care  so  much 
for  eating  them  as  they  would  a  nice  juicy  leg  of  mutton, 
but  they  would  no  more  throw  away  a  wonk  that  had  found 
life  in  a  Chinese  town  too  hard  and  simply  died  than  I 
would  yesterday's  leg  of  mutton  in  favour  of  the  tender 
chicken  I  prefer. 

This,  the  first  camel  inn  I  particularly  noticed,  was  not  far 
from  Fen  Chou  Fu,  and  they  told  me  how  many  years  ago 
one  of  the  medical  missionaries  touring  the  country  found 
there  the  innkeeper's  wife  \\ith  one  of  her  bound  feet  in  a 
terrible  condition.  She  had  a  little  baby  at  her  breast  and 
she  was  suffering  horribly — the  foot  was  gangrenous.    The 


102  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

doctor  was  troubled  and  puzzled  as  well.  He  had  no 
appliances  and  no  drugs,  but  left  as  they  were,  mother  and 
baby,  already  half  starved,  were  doomed.  Therefore,  like 
a  brave  man  as  he  was,  he  took  his  courage  in  both  hands, 
made  a  saw  of  a  piece  of  scrap  iron  from  an  American  packing- 
case  and  with  this  rude  instrument  and  no  anaesthetics  he 
amputated  that  foot.  And  the  woman  survived,  lived  to 
see  her  child  grow  up,  was  living  when  I  passed  along  that 
way,  and  I  sat  in  her  courtyard  and  had  my  tiffin  of  hard- 
boiled  eggs  and  puffed  rice  washed  down  by  tea.  It  was 
her  son's  courtyard  then,  possibly  that  very  baby's  whose 
life  the  missionary  had  saved  by  saving  his  mother's.  For 
the  Chinese  have  no  milch  cows  or  goats  and  know  little 
about  feeding  infants  artificially. 

Always  at  midday  the  litter  was  lifted  off  the  mules* 
backs,  my  table  and  chair  were  produced  from  some  recess 
among  the  packs,  my  blue  cotton  tablecloth  was  spread  and 
Tsai  Chih  Fu  armed  himself  with  a  frying-pan  in  which  to 
warm  the  rice  and  offered  it  to  me  along  with  hard-boiled 
eggs  of  dubious  age.  The  excellent  master  of  transport  was 
a  bad  cook,  and  it  is  not  an  exhilarating  diet  when  it  is  served 
up  three  times  a  day  for  weeks  with  unfailing  regularity.  I 
never  grew  so  weary  of  anything  in  my  life,  and  occasionally 
I  tried  to  vary  it  by  buying  little  scones  or  cakes  peppered 
with  sesame  seed,  but  I'm  bound  to  say  they  were  all  nasty. 
It  always  seemed  to  me  that  an  unfair  amount  of  grit  from 
the  millstones  had  got  into  the  flour.  Chinese  are  con- 
noisseurs in  their  cooking,  but  not  in  poor  little  villages  in 
the  mountains  in  Western  Shansi,  where  they  are  content 
if  they  can  fill  their  starving  stomachs.  To  judge  Chinese 
taste  by  the  provisions  of  these  mountaineers  is  as  if  we 
condemned  the  food  of  London,  liaving  sampled  only  those 
shops  where  a  steak  pudding  can  be  had  for  fourpence. 

And  all  these  little  inns,  these  underground  inns,  very 


BY  MOUNTAIN  ANT)  RIVER  103 

often  had  the  most  high-sounding  names.  "  The  Inn  of 
Increasing  Righteousness  " — I  hope  it  was,  there  was  certainly 
nothing  else  to  recommend  it ;  but  the  "  Inn  of  Ten  Thousand 
Conveniences "  really  made  the  greatest  claim  upon  my 
faith.  The  Ritz  or  the  Carlton  could  hardly  have  claimed 
more  than  this  cave  AN-ith  the  hard-beaten  earth  for  the 
floor  of  its  one  room  and  for  all  furnishing  the  k^ang  where 
landlord  and  guests  slept  in  company. 

Yet  all  these  uncomfortable  inns  between  Fen  Chou  Fu 
and  Yung  Ning  Chou  were  thronged.  The  roads  outside 
were  littered  \\ith  the  packs  of  the  mules  and  donkeys,  and 
inside  the  courtyard  all  was  bustle,  watering  and  feeding  the 
animals  and  attending  to  the  wants  of  the  men,  who  appar- 
ently took  most  of  their  refreshment  out  of  little  basins 
with  chopsticks  and  when  they  were  very  wealthy,  or  on 
great  occasions,  had  tea  without  milk  or  sugar — ^which,  of 
course,  is  the  proper  way  to  drink  it — out  of  little  handleless 
cups.  I  don't  know  that  they  had  anything  else  to  drink 
except  hot  water.  I  certainly  never  saw  them  drinking 
anything  intoxicating,  and  I  believe  there  are  no  public- 
houses  in  China  proper. 

Every  now  and  then  the  way  through  the  loess  widened 
a  little  and  there  was  an  archway  with  a  tower  above  it 
and  a  crowded  village  behind.  Always  the  villages  were 
crowded.  There  was  very  often  one  or  perhaps  two  trees 
shading  the  principal  street,  but  other  hints  of  garden  or 
greenery  there  were  none.  The  shops — open  stalls — were 
packed  together.  And  in  these  little  villages  it  is  all  slum : 
there  is  no  hint  of  country  life,  and  the  street  was  full  of 
people,  ragged  people,  mostly  men  and  children.  Tlie  men 
were  in  rags  in  all  shades  of  blue,  and  blue  worn  and  washed — 
at  least  possibly  the  washing  is  doubtful,  we  will  say  worn 
only — ^to  dun  dirt  colour.  It  was  not  picturesque,  but  filthy, 
and  the  only  hint  of  luxm-y  was  a  pipe  a  yard  long  with  a 


104  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

very  tiny  bowl  which  when  not  in  use  hung  round  their 
necks  or  stuck  out  behind  from  under  their  coats.  Round 
their  necks  too  would  be  hung  a  tiny  brass  tobacco  box 
with  hieroglyphics  upon  it  which  contained  the  evil-smelling 
compound  they  smoked.  Sometimes  they  were  at  work 
in  their  alfresco  kitchens — never  have  I  seen  so  much  cooking 
done  in  the  open  air — sometimes  they  were  shoeing  a  mule, 
sometimes  waiting  for  customers  for  their  cotton  goods,  or 
their  pottery  ware,  or  their  unappetising  cooked  stuff,  and 
often  they  were  nursing  babies,  little  black-eyed  bundles 
of  variegated  dirty  rags  which  on  inspection  resolved  them- 
selves into  a  coat  and  trousers,  whatever  the  age  or  the  sex 
of  the  baby.  And  never  have  I  seen  so  many  family  men. 
The  Cliinaman  is  a  good  father  and  is  not  ashamed  to  carry 
his  baby.     At  least  so  I  judge. 

Only  occasionally  was  a  woman  or  two  to  be  seen,  sitting 
on  their  doorsteps  gossiping  in  the  sun  or  the  shade,  accord- 
ing to  the  temperature.  Men  and  women  stared  at  the 
foreign  woman  with  all  their  eyes,  for  foreigners  are  rather 
like  snow  in  June  in  these  parts,  and  my  coming  made  me 
feel  as  if  a  menagerie  had  arrived  in  the  villages  so  great 
and  interested  were  the  crowds  that  assembled  to  look  at 
and  comment  on  me. 

After  we  passed  tlu-ough  the  loess  the  track  was  up  a 
winding  ravine  cut  in  past  ages  by  the  agency  of  water. 
From  five  hundred  to  a  thousand  feet  above  us  towered  the 
cliffs  and  at  their  feet  trickled  a  tiny  drain  of  water,  not  ankle- 
deep,  that  must  once  have  come  do^vTl  a  mighty  flood  to  cut 
for  itself  such  a  way  through  the  eternal  hills.  For  this, 
unlike  the  road  through  the  loess,  is  a  broad  way  where 
many  caravans  might  find  room.  And  this  trickle  was  the 
beginnings  of  a  tributary  to  the  Yellow  River.  Along  its 
winding  banks  lay  the  caravan  route. 


THE   CLIFFS  AF  FER  THE    LOESS.  See  page   io{. 


LOADS  OF  STRAW   HATS. 


See  page  105, 


BRIDGE  OUTSIDE  YUNG  NING  CHOU. 

See  page   io8. 


AUTHOR'S  CARAVAN   CROSSING    A    RIVER. 

See  page   1 08. 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  105 

And  many  caravans  were  passing.  No  place  in  China  is 
lonely.  There  were  strings  of  camels,  ragged  and  losing 
their  coats — second-liand  goods,  Mark  Twain  calls  them — 
there  were  strings  of  pack-mules  and  still  longer  strings  of 
little  donkeys,  and  there  were  many  men  with  bamboos 
across  their  shoulders  and  loads  slung  from  either  end. 
Some  of  these  men  had  come  from  Peking  and  were  bound 
for  far  Kansu,  the  other  side  of  Shensi ;  but  as  I  went  on 
fewer  and  fewer  got  the  loads  from  Kansu,  most  of  them 
stopped  at  Yung  Ning  Chou,  the  last  walled  to\Mi  of  any 
size  this  side  of  the  river.  Always,  always  through  the 
loess,  tlirough  the  deep  ravines,  across  the  mountain  passes, 
across  the  rocky  plateau  right  away  to  the  little  mountain 
city  was  the  stream  coming  and  going,  bearing  Pekingese 
and  Cantonese  goods  into  the  mountains,  and  coming  back 
laden  with  wheat,  which  is  the  principal  product  of  these 
places. 

Ask  the  drivers  where  they  were  going,  camel,  mule  or 
donkey,  and  the  answer  was  always  the  same,  they  were 
going  east  or  west,  which,  of  course,  we  could  see  for  our- 
selves. There  was  no  possibility  of  going  any  other  way. 
Those  in  authority  knew  whither  they  were  bound,  but  the 
ignorant  drivers  knew  nothing  but  the  direction.  At  least 
that  is  one  explanation,  the  one  I  accepted  at  the  time,  after- 
wards I  came  to  know  it  is  a  breach  of  good  manners  to 
exhibit  curiosity  in  China,  and  quite  likely  my  interpreter 
simply  greeted  the  caravans  and  made  his  own  answer  to 
my  question.  It  satisfied  or  at  least  silenced  me  and  saved 
my  face. 

One  thing,  however,  grew  more  and  more  noticeable :  the 
laden  beasts  were  coming  east,  going  west  the  pack-saddles 
were  empty.  Fear  was  upon  the  merchants  and  they  would 
not  send  goods  across  the  great  river  into  turbulent  Shensi. 


106  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

Already,  so  said  my  interpreter,  and  I  judged  the  truth  of 
his  statement  by  the  empty  pack-saddles,  they  were  fearing 
to  send  goods  into  the  mountains  at  all.  It  was  pleasant 
for  me.  I  began  to  think.  I  had  only  Buchanan  to  consult, 
and  he  had  one  great  drawback,  he  always  agreed  that  what 
I  thought  was  likely  to  be  right.  It  is  an  attitude  of  mind 
that  I  greatly  commend  in  my  friends  and  desire  to  encourage, 
but  there  are  occasions  in  life  when  a  little  perfectly  dis- 
interested advice  would  be  most  acceptable,  and  that  I  could 
not  get.  Badly  I  wanted  to  cross  Asia,  but  I  should  not 
cross  Asia  if  I  were  stopped  by  tufeis,  which  is  the  local  term 
for  robbers.  Were  these  rumours  anything,  or  were  they 
manufactured  by  my  interpreter  ?  There  were  the  warnings 
of  the  missionaries,  and  there  were  the  empty  pack-saddles, 
and  the  empty  pack-saddles  spoke  loudly.  Still  I  thought 
I  might  go  on  a  little  farther,  and  James  Buchanan  en- 
couraged me. 

Truly  the  way  to  the  great  river  through  the  mountains 
was  hard.  Taking  all  the  difficulties  in  the  lump,  it  would 
seem  impossible  to  overcome  them,  but  taking  them  one 
by  one  I  managed  it.  And  not  the  least  of  my  troubles 
were  the  dogs. 

Here  in  the  mountains  was  a  very  handsome  breed  of 
large  white  dogs  with  long  hair,  at  least  I  am  sure  they 
would  have  been  handsome  if  they  had  been  well  fed  and 
well  cared  for.  If  it  had  not  been  for  Buchanan,  whose  heart 
it  would  have  broken,  I  should  certainly  have  got  a  puppy 
to  bring  home  with  me.  These  dogs  one  and  all  waged  war 
on  my  little  friend,  who  had  a  great  idea  of  his  own  importance 
and  probably  aggravated  the  ill-fed  denizens  of  the  inn-yards. 
He  would  go  hectoring  down  a  yard,  head  up,  white  plume 
waving,  with  a  sort  of  "  Well,  here  we  are  !  Now  what 
have  you  got  to  say  for  yourselves  ?  "  air  about  him,  and  in 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  107 

two  seconds  more  a  big  white  scarecrow  of  a  dog  would  have 
him  by  the  neck,  dragging  him  across  the  yard,  designing 
to  slay  him  behind  the  drinking  troughs.  He  would  give 
one  shriek  for  help,  and  I  would  fly  to  that  dog's  head,  catch 
him  by  the  ears  or  the  ruff  round  his  neck  and  be  dragged 
along  in  my  turn  till  Tsai  Chih  Fu  the  resourceful  appeared 
on  the  scene  -sNath  a  billet  of  wood,  and  then  the  unfortunate 
beast  would  be  banished  from  the  yard  or  tied  up  till  we 
had  gone.  I  remembered  often  the  warning  I  had  received 
on  the  subject  of  hydrophobia,  but  I  never  had  time  to  think 
of  that  till  afterwards,  when,  of  course,  if  anything  had 
happened  it  would  have  been  too  late. 

There  is  one  thing  about  a  Chinese  inn  in  the  interior : 
it  may  be  exceedingly  uncomfortable,  but  it  is  also  exceed- 
ingly cheap.  A  night's  lodging  as  a  rule  costs  forty  cash. 
Eleven  cash  roughly  is  equal  to  a  cent,  and  a  cent, 
again  rouglily — it  depends  upon  the  price  of  silver — is 
a  little  less  than  a  farthing.  Foily  cash,  then,  is  hardly 
a  penny.  Hot  water  costs  eight  cash,  eggs  were  six  cash 
apiece  and  so  were  the  wheaten  scones  I  bought  in  place 
of  the  bread  my  servant  could  not  make,  and  I  could 
buy  those  last  as  low  as  three  cash  apiece.  Of  course 
I  quite  understand  that  I  as  a  rich  traveller  paid  top  price 
for  everything,  probably  twice  or  three  times  as  much  as  the 
ordinary  traveller  ;  the  missionaries,  indeed,  were  shocked  at 
the  price  I  paid  for  eggs,  and  again  I  was  always  rooked  in 
the  matter  of  paper.  For  even  though  I  preferred  it,  it 
often  happened  that  it  was  impossible  to  sleep  in  my  litter 
in  the  yard,  it  was  too  crowded  %vith  beasts — and  it  had  to 
be  very  crowded — and  then  I  strippetl  off  the  paper  from  the 
window  of  the  room  I  occupied  to  let  in  the  air,  just  a  little 
air,  and  I  was  charged  accordingly  from  tliirty  to  eighty 


108  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

cash  for  my  destiiictiveness.  I  found  afterwards  that  a 
whole  sheet  of  new  paper  can  be  had  for  ten  cash,  and  the 
paper  I  destroyed  was  not  half-a-sheet  and  was  grimed  with 
the  dirt  of  ages  !  Glass,  of  course,  in  the  mountains  of 
Shansi  is  almost  unknown  and  the  windows  are  covered  with 
white  paper. 

After  the  mountains  came  a  high  stony  plateau,  not 
dangerous  but  difficult,  for  though  this  is  a  great  trade  route 
there  was  not  an  inch  of  smooth  roadway,  every  step  had 
to  be  carefully  picked  among  the  stones,  and  presently  the 
stream  that  when  we  entered  the  mountains  was  a  trickle 
a  hand's-breadth  across  was  now  a  river  meandering  among 
the  stones.  We  began  by  stepping  across  it ;  wider  it  grew 
and  there  were  stepping-stones  for  the  walking  muleteers ; 
then  the  mules  waded  and  the  muleteers  climbed  on  to  the 
beasts  or  on  to  the  front  of  the  litter,  which  last  proceeding 
made  me  very  imcomfortable,  for  I  remembered  my  special 
man  was  likely  at  most  only  to  have  been  washed  twice  in 
his  life,  and  I  was  veiy  sure  his  clothes  had  never  been  washed 
at  all  and  probably  had  never  been  taken  off  his  back  since 
last  October.  Finally  we  crossed  by  bridges,  fairly  sub- 
stantial bridges  three  planks  wide,  but  the  mules  required 
a  deal  of  encouraging  before  they  would  trust  them  and 
always  felt  the  boards  gingerly  with  their  hoofs  first  as  if 
they  distrusted  the  Chinaman  and  all  his  engineering  works. 
The  engineering  was  probably  all  right,  but  as  the  state  of 
repair  often  left  much  to  be  desired  I  could  hardly  blame 
the  mules  for  their  caution.  And  one  day  we  crossed  tliat 
river  twenty-six  times  ! 

There  is  no  cliarm  in  the  country  in  Shansi  beyond  the 
simshine  and  the  invigorating  air.  Tlicre  were  fields,  every 
patch  of  land  that  could  possibly  be  made  to  grow  a  blade 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  109 

of  wheat  was  most  carefully  tilled,  there  was  not  a  weed, 
not  a  blade  of  grass  out  of  place.  In  some  fields  the  crops 
were  springing  gi-een,  in  others  the  farmers  were  still  plough- 
ing, with  a  patient  ox  in  the  plough ;  but  there  were  no 
divisions  between  these  fields  ;  there  were  no  hedges  ;  few 
and  scanty  trees  ;  no  gardens ;  no  farmhouses,  picturesque  or 
otherN\ise.  The  peasants  all  live  huddled  together,  literally 
in  the  hill-sides,  and  of  the  beauty  of  life  there  was  none. 
It  was  toil,  toil  without  remission  and  with  never  a  day  off. 
Even  the  blue  sky  and  the  sunshine  and  the  invigorating 
dry  air  must  be  discounted  by  the  dirt  and  darkness  and 
airlessness  of  the  houses  and  the  underground  yaos.  The 
Chinese  peasant's  idea  in  building  a  house  seems  to  be  to 
get  rid  of  the  light  and  the  air,  the  only  two  things  I  should 
have  thought  that  make  his  life  bearable.  And  in  these 
dark  and  airless  caves  the  crippled  women  spend  their  days. 
The  younger  women — I  met  them  occasionally  gaily  clad 
and  mounted  on  a  donkey — looked  waxen  and  had  an  air  of 
suffering,  and  the  older  were  lined  and  had  a  look  of  queru- 
lousness  and  irritability  that  was  not  on  the  men's  faces. 
Many  an  old  man  have  I  seen  whose  face  might  stand  for 
a  model  of  prosperous,  contented,  peaceful  old  age  looking 
back  on  a  well -lived  life,  but  never,  never  have  I  seen  such 
a  look  on  a  woman's  face. 

At  last,  after  crossing  a  long  bridge  across  the  river,  we 
came  to  Yung  Ning  Chou.  Tlie  dark  grey  wall  stood  out 
againsi;  the  blue  sky  and,  unlike  most  Chinese  cities  that  I 
have  seen,  there  is  no  watch-tower  over  the  gate.  It  has 
suburbs,  suburbs  like  Fen  Chou  Fu  enclosed  in  ci-umbling 
clay  walls  that  are  fast  drifting  to  their  inevitable  end. 
They  could  not  keep  out  a  rabbit  now,  let  alone  a  man,  and 
yet  they  are  entered  through  great  brick  gateways  with  a 


110  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

turn  in  them,  and  going  under  the  archways  I  felt  as  usual 
as  if  I  had  gone  back  to  Biblical  days.  The  walls  of  the  city 
proper,  the  crowded  little  city,  are  in  better  preservation, 
and  tower  high  above  the  caravans  that  pass  round  them, 
for  there  are  no  inns  in  Yung  Ning  Chou  and  all  caravans 
must  stay  in  the  eastern  subm-b.  There  are  narrow, 
stony  little  streets  of  houses  pressed  close  together,  and  the 
rough  roadways  are  crowded  with  traffic:  people,  donkeys, 
laden  mules  and  grunting  camels  are  for  ever  passing  to  and 
fro.  Looking  up  the  principal  street  between  the  eastern 
and  the  western  gate  was  like  looking  up  a  dark  tunnel  in 
which  fluttered  various  notices,  the  shop  signs,  Chinese 
characters  printed  on  white  caUco.  Most  of  those  signs, 
according  to  my  interpreter's  translation,  bore  a  strong 
resemblance  to  one  another.  "  Virtue  and  Abundance," 
it  seems  they  proclaimed  to  all  who  could  read.  But  there 
was  no  one  to  tell  me  whether  there  was  really  any  wealth 
in  this  little  moimtain  city  that  is  the  same  now  as  it  prob- 
ably was  a  thousand  years  ago.  I  wondered,  I  could  not 
help  wondering,  whether  it  would  be  worth  Pai  Lang's  while 
to  attack.  I  wondered  if  he  could  get  in  if  he  did,  for  the 
walls  were  liigh  and  the  gates,  rising  up  straight  and  sheer 
without  watch  towers,  such  piles  of  raasomy  as  might  Iiave 
been  built  by  conquering  Nineveh  or  Babylon.  Here  and 
there,  though,  in  the  walls  the  water  had  got  under  the  clay 
and  forced  out  the  bricks  in  long  deep  cracks,  and  here 
if  they  were  not  carefully  guarded  were  places  that  an 
invading  force  might  storm,  and  in  the  suburbs  and  among 
the  houses  that  clustered  close  imder  the  protecting  walls 
tenible  tilings  might  be  done.  But  the  western  gate,  I 
should  say,  is  well-nigh  impregnable.  Nobody  but  a  China- 
man would  have  built  a  gate  in  such  a  place.    It  opens  out 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  111 

on  to  a  steep  cliff  that  falls  sheer  sixty  feet  to  the  river 
below.  Chinese  towns  are  always  built  symmetrically; 
there  should  be  at  least  one  gate  in  each  of  the  four  walls, 
therefore  a  gate  there  is  here.  It  seems  to  have  occurred 
to  no  one  that  a  gate  is  placed  in  those  walls  for  the  con- 
venience of  traffic,  and  that  it  is  simple  waste  of  time  and 
labour  to  make  a  gate  in  a  place  by  which  no  one  could 
possibly  pass.  For  that  matter  I  should  have  thought  a 
wall  unnecessaiy  on  top  of  so  steep  a  cliff. 

The  Scandinavian  missionaries  who  have  faithfully  worked 
Yung  Ning  Chou  for  the  last  twenty  years  with  so  little 
result  were  absent  when  I  psased  through.  Only  two  of 
them  live  here,  the  rest  are  scattered  over  the  mountains 
to  the  north,  and  when  I  was  in  Fen  Chou  Fu  I  met  a  woman, 
a  Norwegian,  who  was  on  her  way  to  join  them.  She  remains 
in  my  mind  a  pathetic  figure  of  sacrifice,  a  wistful  woman 
who  was  giving  of  her  very  best  and  yet  was  haunted  by  the 
fear  that  all  she  was  giving  was  of  very  little  worth,  surely 
the  most  bitter  and  sorrowful  reflection  in  this  world.  She 
had  worked  in  China  as  a  missionary  in  her  girlhood.  She 
explained  to  me  how  hard  it  was  for  these  northern  peoples, 
for  to  learn  Chinese  they  have  first  to  learn  English.  Then 
she  married,  and  after  her  little  girl  was  born  her  husband 
died  and  so  she  took  her  treasure  home  to  educate  her  in 
Norway.  But  she  died  and,  feeling  her  duty  was  to  the 
Chinese,  back  came  the  lonely  mother,  and  when  I  met  her 
she  was  setting  out  for  the  little  walled  city  in  the  hills  where 
she  dwelt  with  some  other  women.  A  strangely  lonely  life, 
devoid  of  all  pleasures,  theirs  must  have  been.  I  was  struck 
with  the  little  things  that  pleased  this  devoted  woman,  such 
little  things,  and  we  who  may  enjoy  them  every  day  go 
calmly  on  our  way  and  never  appreciate  them.    She  wore 


112  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

the  unbecoming  Chinese  dress,  with  her  white  hair  drawn 
back  from  her  face,  and  her  blue  eyes  looked  out  wistfully 
as  if  she  were  loath  to  give  up  hope  that  somewhere,  somehow, 
in  the  world  individual  happiness,  that  would  be  for  her 
alone,  would  come  to  her.  During  the  revolution  they, 
remembering  the  troubles  and  dangers  of  the  Boxer  time, 
had  refugeed  in  Tientsin,  and  the  days  there  were  evidently 
marked  with  a  white  stone  in  her  calendar. 

"  It  was  so  delightful,"  she  said  in  her  pretty  precise 
English,  "to  see  the  European  children  in  the  gardens." 

How  her  heart  went  out  to  those  children.  They  reminded 
her,  I  suppose,  of  the  little  girl  she  had  left  behind  sleeping 
her  last  sleep  among  the  Norwegian  mountains. 

"  Oh,  the  children  !  "  she  sighed.  "  It  brought  a  lump 
in  your  throat  to  look  at  them  !  " 

It  brought  a  limip  in  my  throat  to  look  at  her  as  I  saw  her 
set  out  for  her  home  with  two  little  black-eyed  Chinese  girls 
crowded  in  the  litter  beside  her.  She  was  taking  them  home 
from  the  school  at  Fen  Chou  Fu.  The  loneliness  of  her  life  ! 
The  sacrifice  of  it !  I  wonder  if  those  three  women,  shut 
away  in  that  little  walled  town,  made  any  converts.  I 
doubt  it,  for  theirs,  like  the  Yung  Ning  Chou  mission,  was 
purely  a  faith  mission. 

Unmarried  women  and  widows  were  these  three  women. 
The  Yung  Ning  Chou  mission  consists  of  four  old  bachelors 
and  three  old  maids.  Not  for  a  moment  do  I  suppose  the 
majority  of  the  Chinese  believe  they  are  what  they  are, 
men  and  women  living  the  lives  of  ascetics,  giving  up  all 
for  their  faith,  and  the  absence  of  children  in  child-loving 
China  must  seriously  handicap  them  in  their  efforts  to  spread 
their  faith.  Think  of  the  weary  years  of  those  workers 
toiling  so  hopelessly  in  an  alien  land  among  a  poor  and 
alien    population     whose    first    impulse    is    certainly    to 


GATE  OF  A  TOWN  NEAR  TO   LIU   LIN    CHEN. 
See  page   113. 


ARCHWAY  WITH  THEATRICAL  NOTICES    LIU   LIN  CHEN. 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  113 

despise  them.  All  honour  to  those  workers  even  though 
they  have  failed  in  their  object  so  far  as  human  eye  can 
see,  and  even  though  that  object  makes  no  appeal  to  people 
like  me. 

And  I  passed  on  through  Yung  Ning  Chou,  on  across 
the  stony  plateau,  and  at  last,  at  a  village  called  Liu  Lin 
Chen,  I  was  brought  up  with  a  sharp  turn  with  a  tale  of 
Pai  Lang. 

I  was  having  my  midday  meal.  Not  that  it  was  midday. 
It  was  four  o'clock,  and  I  had  breakfasted  at  6  a.m.  ;  but  time 
is  of  no  account  in  China.  Liu  Lin  Chen  was  the  proper 
place  at  which  to  stop  for  the  noonday  rest,  so  we  did  not 
stop  till  we  arrived  there,  though  the  badness  of  the  road  had 
delayed  us.  I  was  sitting  in  the  inn-yard  waiting  for  Tsai 
Chih  Fu  to  bring  me  the  eternal  hard-boiled  eggs  and  puffed 
rice  when  IMr  Wang  came  up,  accompanied  by  the  two 
muleteers,  and  they — that  is,  the  two  muleteers — dropped 
down  to  the  ground  and  clamoured,  so  I  made  out  from  his 
excited  statements  that  the  gates  of  Sui  Te  Chou  had  been 
closed  for  the  last  four  days  on  account  of  Pai  Lang !  And 
Sui  Te  Chou  was  the  first  town  I  proposed  to  stop  at  after  I 
crossed  the  river  !  If  I  would  go  to  Lan  Chou  Fu  and  on 
through  Sin  Kiang  to  the  Russian  border  through  Sui  Te 
Chou  I  must  go.  Tliere  was  no  other  way.  These  days 
in  the  mountains  had  shown  me  that  to  stray  from  the 
caravan  road  was  an  utter  impossibility.  Had  I  been  one 
of  the  country  people  conversant  with  the  language  I  think 
it  would  have  been  impossible.  As  it  was,  I  had  my  choice. 
I  might  go  on  or  I  might  go  back.  Mr  Wang  apparently 
thought  there  should  be  no  doubt  in  my  mind.  He  evidently 
expected  I  would  turn  tail  there  and  then,  and  I  myself 
realised — I  had  been  realising  ever  since  round  the  table  in 


114  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

the  mission  station  at  Ki  Hsien  we  had  lead  Dr  Edwards' 
letter — that  my  jomney  across  the  continent  was  ended ; 
but  to  turn  tail  in  this  ignominious  fashion,  having  seen 
nothing,  within,  I  suppose,  twenty-five  miles  of  the  Yellow 
River,  with  the  country  about  me  as  peaceful  as  the  road 
in  Kent  in  which  I  live  at  present,  how  could  I  ?  It  was 
more  peaceful,  in  fact,  for  now  at  night  searchlights  stream 
across  the  sky,  within  a  furlong  of  my  house  bombs  have  been 
dropped  and  men  have  been  killed,  and  by  day  and  by  night 
the  house  rocks  as  motors  laden  with  armament  and  instru- 
ments of  war  thunder  past.  But  there  in  Shansi  in  the  fields 
the  people  worked  diligently,  in  the  village  the  archway  over 
which  they  held  theatrical  representations  was  placarded 
with  notices,  and  in  the  inn-yard  where  I  sat  the  people 
went  about  attending  to  the  animals  as  if  there  was  nothing 
to  be  feared.  And  I  felt  lonely,  and  James  Buchanan  sat 
close  beside  me  because  at  the  other  side  of  the  very  narrow 
yard  a  great  big  white  dog  with  a  fierce  face  and  a  patch  of 
mange  on  his  side  looked  at  him  threateningly. 

"  I'll  have  none  of  your  drawing-room  dogs  here," 
said  he. 

But  Buchanan's  difficulties  were  solved  when  he  appealed 
to  me.  I — and  I  was  feeling  it  horribly — had  no  one  to 
appeal  to.     I  must  rely  upon  myself. 

And  then  to  add  to  my  woes  it  began  to  rain,  soft,  gentle 
spring  rain,  growing  rain  that  must  have  been  a  godsend 
to  the  whole  country-side. 

It  stopped,  and  Mr  Wang  and  the  muleteers  looked  at 
me  anxiously. 

"  We  will  go  on,"  I  said  firmly,  "  to  the  Yellow  River." 

Their  faces  fell.  I  could  see  the  disappointment,  but  still 
I  judged  I  might  go  in  safety  so  far. 


BY  MOUNTAIN  AND  RIVER  115 

"  Don't  they  want  to  go  ?  "  I  asked  Mr  Wang. 
"  Repeat,  please,"  said  he.    So  I  repeated,  and  he  said 
as  he  had  said  before  : 

"  If  you  say  '  Go,'  mus'  go." 
And  I  said  "  Go." 


CHAPTER  VII 

CmNA's   SORROW 

"  It  is  better,"  says  a  Chinese  proverb,  "  to  hear  about  a 
thing  than  to  see  it,"  and  truly  on  this  journey  I  was  much 
inclined  to  agree  with  that  dictum. 

We  were  bound  for  Hsieh  Ts'un.  I  can't  pronounce  it, 
and  I  should  not  like  to  swear  to  the  spelling,  but  of  one 
thing  I  am  very  siu*e,  not  one  of  the  inhabitants  could  spell 
it,  or  even  know  it  was  wrongly  set  forth  to  the  world,  so 
I  am  fairly  safe. 

We  went  under  the  archway  with  the  theatrical  notices 
at  Liu  Lin  Chen,  under  the  arched  gateway  of  the  village, 
out  into  the  open  country,  and  it  began  to  rain  again.  It 
came  down  not  exactly  in  torrents  but  good  steady  growing 
rain.  The  roads  when  they  were  not  slippery  stones  were 
appalling  quagmires,  and  my  mule  litter  always  seemed  to 
be  overhanging  a  precipice  of  some  sort.  I  was  not  very 
comfortable  when  that  precipice  was  only  twenty  feet  deep, 
when  it  was  more  I  fervently  wished  that  I  had  not  come  to 
China.  I  wished  it  more  than  once,  and  it  rained  and  it 
rained  and  it  rained,  silent,  soaking,  penetrating  rain,  and 
I  saw  the  pictiuresque  mountain  coimtiy  through  a  veil  of 
mist. 

Hsieh  Ts'un  is  a  little  dirty  straggling  village,  and  as  we 
entered  it  through  the  usual  archway  with  a  watch  tower 
above  the  setting  sun  broke  through  the  thick  clouds  and 
his  golden  rays  streamed  down  upon  the  slippery  wet  cobble- 
stones that  paved  the  principal  street.    The  golden  sunlight 

ii6 


CHINA'S  SORROW  117 

and  the  gorgeous  rainbow  glorified  things  a  little,  and  they 
needed  glorifying.  The  principal  inn,  as  usual,  was  a  fairly 
large  yard,  roughly  paved,  but  swimming  now  in  dirty  water  ; 
there  were  stalls  for  animals  all  round  it,  and  there  was  a 
large  empty  shed  where  they  stored  lime.  It  was  stone- 
paved,  and  the  roof  leaked  like  a  sieve,  but  here  I  established 
myself,  dodging  as  far  as  possible  the  holes  in  the  roof  and 
drawing  across  the  front  of  the  shed  my  litter  as  a  sort  of 
protection,  for  the  inn,  as  usual  with  these  mountain  inns, 
had  but  one  room. 

It  was  cold,  it  was  dirty,  and  I  realised  how  scarce  foreigners 
must  be  when  through  the  misty,  soaking  rain,  which 
generally  chokes  off  a  Chinaman,  crowds  came  to  stand 
round  and  stare  at  me.  I  was  stationary,  so  the  women 
came,  dirty,  ragged,  miserable-looking  women,  supporting 
themselves  with  sticks  and  holding  up  their  babies  to  look 
at  the  stranger  while  she  ate.  By  and  by  it  grew  so  cold 
I  felt  I  must  really  go  to  bed,  and  I  asked  Mr  Wang  to  put 
it  to  the  crowd  that  it  was  not  courteous  to  stare  at  the 
foreign  woman  when  she  wished  to  be  alone,  and,  O  most 
courtly  folk  !  every  single  one  of  those  people  went  away. 

"  You  can  have  a  bath,"  said  he,  "  no  one  will  look  " ; 
and,  all  honour  give  I  to  those  poor  peasants  of  Western 
Shansi,  I  was  undisturbed.  I  am  afraid  a  lonely  Chinese 
lady  would  hardly  be  received  with  such  courtesy  in  an 
English  village  were  the  cases  reversed. 

Next  day  the  rain  still  teemed  down.  The  fowls  pecked 
about  the  yard,  drenched  and  dripping  ;  a  miserable,  mangy, 
cream-coloured  dog  or  two  came  foraging  for  a  dinner,  and 
the  people,  holding  wadded  coats  and  oiled  paper  over  their 
heads,  came  to  look  again  at  the  show  that  had  come  to  the 
town  ;  but  there  was  no  break  in  the  grey  sky,  and  there  was 
nothing  to  do  but  sit  there  shivering  with  cold,  writing  letters 


118  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

on  my  little  travelling  table  and  listening  to  my  interpreter, 
who  talked  with  the  innkeeper  and  brought  me  at  intervals 
that  gentleman's  views  on  the  doings  of  Pai  Lang. 

Those  views  varied  hour  by  hour.  At  first  he  was  sure  he 
was  attacking  Sui  Te  Chou.  That  seemed  to  me  sending  the 
famous  robber  over  the  country  too  quickly.  Then  it  was 
tufeis — that  is,  bands  of  robbers — that  Sui  Te  Chou  feared, 
and  finally,  boiled  down,  I  came  to  the  conclusion  that  Sui 
Te  Chou  had  probably  shut  her  gates  because  the  country 
round  was  disturbed,  and  that  she  admitted  no  one  who  had 
not  friends  in  the  city  or  could  not  in  some  way  guarantee 
his  good  faith.  It  served  to  show  me  my  friends  in  Ki  Hsien 
had  been  right,  such  disturbed  country  would  be  no  place 
for  a  woman  alone.  I  suppose  it  was  the  rain  and  the  grey 
skies,  but  I  must  admit  that  day  I  was  distinctly  unhappy 
and  more  than  a  little  afraid.  I  was  alone  among  an 
alien  people,  who  only  regarded  me  as  a  cheap  show ;  I 
had  no  one  to  take  counsel  with,  my  interpreter  only 
irritated  me  and,  to  add  to  my  misery,  I  was  very  cold. 
I  have  seldom  put  in  a  longer  or  more  dreary  day  than  I 
did  at  Hsieh  Ts'un.  There  was  absolutely  nothing  to  do  but 
watch  the  misty  rain,  for  if  I  went  outside  and  got  wetter 
than  I  was  already  getting  under  the  leaking  roof — I  wore 
my  Burberry — I  had  no  possible  means  of  drying  my  clothes 
save  by  laying  them  on  the  hot  k^ang  in  the  solitary  living- 
room  of  the  inn,  and  that  was  already  inhabited  by  many 
humans  and  the  parasites  that  preyed  upon  them.  There- 
fore I  stayed  where  I  was,  compared  my  feet  with  the  stmnps 
of  the  women  who  came  to  visit  me — distinctly  I  was  a 
woman's  show — ^gave  the  grubby  little  children  raisins,  and 
wondered  if  there  was  any  fear  of  Pai  Lang  coming  along 
this  way  before  I  had  time  to  turn  back.  If  it  kept  on  rain- 
ing, would  my  muleteers  compel  me  to  stay  here  till  Pai 


CHINA'S  SORROW  119 

Lang  swept  do%\'n  upon  us  ?  But  no,  that  thought  did  not 
trouble  me,  fii-st,  because  I  momentarily  expected  it  to  clear 
up,  and  secondly,  because  I  was  very  sure  that  any  rain  that 
kept  me  prisoner  would  also  hold  up  Pai  Lang.  I  could  not 
believe  in  a  Chinaman,  even  a  robber,  going  out  in  the  rain 
if  he  could  help  himself,  any  more  than  I  could  believe  in 
it  raining  longer  than  a  day  in  China. 

"  The  people  are  not  afraid,"  I  said  to  my  interpreter  as  I 
looked  at  a  worn  old  woman  in  a  much-patched  blue  cotton 
smock  and  trousers,  her  head  protected  from  the  rain  by  a 
wadded  coat  in  the  last  stages  of  decrepitude ;  her  feet  made 
me  shiver,  and  her  finger-nails  made  me  crawl,  the  odour 
that  came  from  her  was  sickening,  but  she  liked  to  see  me 
write,  and  I  guessed  she  had  had  but  few  pleasures  in  her 
weary  life. 

"  They  not  knomng  yet,"  said  he ;  "  only  travellers  know. 
They  tell  innkeeper." 

Yes,  certainly  the  travellers  would  know  best. 

And  all  day  long  he  came,  bringing  me  various  reports, 
and  said  tliat,  according  to  the  innkeeper,  the  last  caravan 
that  had  passed  tlirough  had  gone  back  on  its  tracks.  I 
might  have  remembered  it.  I  did  remember  it — a  long  line 
of  donkeys  and  mules. 

But  the  day  passed,  and  the  night  passed,  and  the  next 
day  the  sun  came  out  warm  and  pleasant,  and  all  my  doubts 
were  resolved.  My  journey  was  broken  beyond  hope,  and 
I  must  go  back,  but  turn  I  would  not  till  I  had  looked  upon 
the  Yellow  River. 

We  started  with  all  our  paraphernalia.  We  were  to  turn 
in  our  tracks  after  tiffin,  but  Mr  Wang  and  the  muleteers 
were  certain  on  that  point,  everything  I  possessed  must 
be  dragged  across  the  mountains  if  I  hoped  to  see 
it   again,  and   I   acquiesced,   for   I   certainly  felt   until  I 


120  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

got  back  to  civilisation  I  could  not  do  without  any  of 
my  belongings. 

Almost  immediately  we  left  the  village  we  began  to  ascend 
the  moimtain  pass.  Steeper  and  steeper  it  grew,  and  at 
last  the  opening  in  my  mule  litter  was  pointing  straight  up 
to  the  sky,  and  I,  seeing  there  was  nothing  else  for  it,  de- 
manded to  be  lifted  out  and  signified  my  intention  of  walking. 

There  was  one  thing  against  this  and  that  was  an  attack 
of  breathlessness.  Asthma  always  attacks  me  when  I  am 
tired  or  worried,  and  now,  with  a  very  steep  mountain  to 
cross  and  no  means  of  doing  it  except  on  my  own  feet,  it 
had  its  wicked  way.  My  master  of  transport  and  Mr  Wang, 
like  perfectly  correct  Chinese  servants,  each  put  a  hand 
under  my  elbows,  and  with  Buchanan  skirmishing  around 
joyfully,  rejoicing  that  for  once  his  mistress  was  sensible,  the 
little  procession  started.  It  was  hard  work,  very  hard  work. 
When  I  could  go  no  longer  I  sat  down  and  waited  till  I  felt 
equal  to  starting  again.  On  the  one  hand  the  mountain 
rose  up  sheer  and  steep,  on  the  other  it  dropped  away  into 
the  gully  beneath,  only  to  rise  again  on  the  other  side.  And 
yet  in  the  most  inaccessible  places  were  patches  of  cultiva- 
tion and  wheat  growing.  I  cannot  imagine  how  man  or 
beast  kept  a  footing  on  such  a  slant,  and  how  they  ploughed 
and  sowed  it  passes  my  understanding.  But  most  of  the 
moimtain-side  was  too  much  even  for  them,  and  then  they 
turned  loose  their  flocks,  meek  cream-coloured  sheep  and 
impudent  black  goats,  to  graze  on  the  scanty  mountain 
pastures.  Of  course  they  were  in  charge  of  a  shepherd,  for 
there  were  no  fences,  and  the  newly  springing  wheat  must 
have  been  far  more  attractive  than  the  scanty  mountain 
grasses. 

And  then  I  knew  it  was  worth  it  all — the  long  trek  from 
Fen  Chou  Fu,  the  dreary  day  at  Hsieh  Ts'un,  the  still  more 


AT  THE  TOP  OF  THE   PASS. 


See  Page   122.         ^ 


THROUGH  THE  MOUNTAINS  TO  THE  YELLOW  RIVER= 
See  page   I  22. 


I 


FIRST  SIGHT  OF  HOANG   HO. 
See  p^ge    12  2. 


THE   HOANC;   HO   A  I    lHLN    PL. 
See  page   i  24 


CHINA'S  SORROW  121 

dreary  nights,  this  stiff  climb  which  took  more  breath  than 
I  had  to  spare — for  the  view  when  I  arrived  at  a  point  of 
vantage  was  beautiful.  These  were  strange  mountains.  The 
road  before  me  rose  at  a  very  steep  angle,  and  all  around  me 
were  hill-sides  whereon  only  a  goat  or  a  sheep  might  find 
foothold,  but  the  general  effect  looked  at  from  a  distance 
was  not  of  steepness.  These  were  not  mountains,  rugged, 
savage,  grand,  they  were  gentle  hills  and  dales  that  lay 
about  me ;  I  had  come  through  them ;  there  were  more 
ahead ;  I  could  see  them  range  after  range,  softly  rounded, 
green  and  broA\Ti  and  then  blue,  beautiful  for  all  there 
were  no  trees,  in  an  atmosphere  that  was  clear  as  a  mirror 
after  the  rain  of  the  day  before.  Beautiful,  beautiful, 
with  a  tender  entrancing  loveliness,  is  that  view  over  the 
country  up  in  the  hills  that  hem  in  the  Yellow  River  as  it 
passes  between  Shansi  and  Shensi.  Is  it  possible  there  is 
never  anyone  to  see  it  but  these  poor  peasants  who  wring  a 
hard  livelihood  from  the  soil,  and  who  for  all  their  toil,  which 
lasts  from  daylight  to  dark  all  the  year  round,  get  from 
this  rich  soil  just  enough  wheaten  flour  to  keep  the  life  in 
them,  a  hovel  to  dwell  in,  and  a  few  unspeakable  rags  to 
cover  their  nakedness  ?  As  far  as  I  could  see,  everj^one  was 
desperately  poor,  and  yet  these  hills  hold  coal  and  iron  in 
close  proximity,  wealth  untold  and  unexploited.  The  pity 
of  it !  Unexploited,  the  people  are  poor  to  the  verge  of 
starvation ;  worked,  the  delicate  loveliness  of  the  country-side 
will  vanish  as  the  beauty  of  the  Black  Country  has  vanished, 
and  can  we  be  sure  that  the  peasant  will  benefit  ? 

Still  we  went  up  and  up,  and  the  climbing  of  these  gentle 
wooing  hills  I  found  h^-rd.  Steep  it  was,  and  at  last,  just 
when  I  felt  I  could  not  possibly  go  any  farther,  though 
the  penalty  were  that  I  should  turn  back  almost  within  sight 
of  the  river,  I  found  that  the  original  makers  of  the  track 


122  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

had  been  of  the  same  opinion,  for  here  was  the  top  of  the 
pass  with  a  tunnel  bored  through  it,  a  tunnel  perhaps  a 
hundred  feet  long,  carefully  bricked,  and  when  we,  breath- 
less and  panting,  walked  through  we  came  out  on  a  little 
plateau  with  a  narrow  road  wandering  down  a  mountain-side 
as  steep  as  the  one  we  had  just  climbed.  There  was  the 
most  primitive  of  restaiu-ants  here,  and  the  woman  in  charge 
— it  was  a  woman,  and  her  feet  were  not  bound — proffered 
us  a  thin  sort  of  drink  like  very  tasteless  barley  water.  At 
least  now  I  know  it  was  tasteless,  then  I  found  it  was  nectar, 
and  I  sat  on  a  stone  and  drank  it  thankfully,  gave  not  a 
thought  to  the  dirt  of  the  bowl  that  contained  it,  and  drew 
long  breaths  and  looked  around  me. 

The  hills  rose  up  on  either  liand  and  away  in  the  distance 
where  they  opened  out  were  the  beautiful  treeless  hills  of 
forbidden  Shensi,  just  as  alluring,  just  as  peaceful  as  the 
hills  I  had  come  through.  It  was  worth  the  long  and  toil- 
some journey,  well  worth  even  all  my  fears. 

Then  we  went  down,  down,  but  I  did  not  dare  get  into  my 
litter,  the  way  was  too  steep,  the  chances  of  going  over  too 
great,  for  it  seems  the  Chinese  never  make  a  road  if  by  any 
chance  they  can  get  along  without.  They  were  driven  to 
bore  a  tunnel  through  the  mountains,  but  they  never  smooth 
or  take  away  rocks  as  long  as,  by  taking  a  little  care,  an 
animal  can  pass  without  the  certainty  of  going  over  the  cliff. 

And  at  last  through  a  cleft  in  the  hills  I  saw  one  of  the 
world's  great  rivers  and — was  disappointed.  The  setting 
was  ideal.  The  hills  rose  up  steep  and  rugged,  real  moun- 
tains, on  either  side,  pheasants  called,  rock-doves  mourned, 
magpies  chattered,  overhead  was  a  clear  blue  sky  just 
flecked  here  and  there  with  fleecy  clouds,  beyond  again  were 
the  mountains  of  Shensi,  the  golden  sunlight  on  their  rounded 
tops,  purple  shadow  in  their  swelling  folds,  far  away  in  the 


CHINA'S  SORROW  128 

distance  they  melted  blue  into  the  blue  sky,  close  at  hand 
they  were  green  %\ith  the  green  of  springtime,  save  where 
the  plough  had  just  turned  up  patches  of  rich  browTi  soil, 
and  at  their  foot  rolled  a  muddy  flood  that  looked  neither 
decent  water  nor  good  soimd  earth,  the  mighty  Hoang-Ho, 
the  Yellow  River,  China's  sorrow.  China's  sorrow  indeed ; 
for  though  here  it  was  hemmed  in  by  mountains,  and  might 
not  shift  its  bed,  it  looked  as  if  it  were  carrying  the  soul  of 
the  mountains  away  to  the  sea. 

Tliere  is  a  temple  whwe  the  gully  opens  on  to  the  river,  a 
temple  and  a  little  village,  and  the  temple  was  crowded  with 
blue-clad,  shabby-looking  soldiers  who  promptly  swarmed 
round  me  and  wanted  to  look  in  my  baggage,  that  heavy 
baggage  we  were  hauling  for  safety  over  fourteen  miles  of 
mountain  road.  Presumably  they  were  seeking  arms.  We 
managed  to  persuade  them  there  were  none,  and  that  the 
loads  contained  nothing  likely  to  disturb  the  peace,  and  then 
we  went  down  to  the  river,  crossing  by  a  devious,  rocky  and 
unpleasant  path  simply  reeking  of  human  occupancy,  and 
the  inhabitants  of  that  soldier  village  crowded  round  me 
and  examined  everything  I  wore  and  commented  on  every- 
thing I  did. 

They  were  there  to  guard  the  crossing ;  and  far  from  me 
be  it  to  say  they  were  not  most  efficient,  but  if  so  their  looks 
belied  them.  They  did  not  even  look  toy  soldiers.  No  man 
was  in  full  uniform.  Apparently  they  wore  odd  bits,  as  if 
there  were  not  enough  clothes  in  the  company  to  go  round, 
and  they  were  one  and  all  dirty,  touzly,  untidy,  and  all 
smiling  and  friendly  and  good-tempered.  I  only  picked 
them  out  from  the  surrounding  country  people — who  were 
certainly  dirty  and  poverty-stricken  enough  in  all  conscience 
— by  the  fact  that  the  soldiers  had  abandoned  the  queue 
which  the  people  around,  like  all  these  country  people,  still 


124  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

affect.  The  soldier  wore  his  hair  about  four  or  five  inches 
long,  sticking  out  at  all  angles,  rusty-black,  unkempt  and 
uncombed,  and  whether  he  ran  to  a  cap  or  not,  the  result 
was  equally  unworkmanhke. 

I  conclude  Chun  Pu  is  not  a  very  important  crossing. 
What  the  road  is  like  on  the  Shensi  side  I  do  not  know,  but 
on  the  Shansi  side  I  should  think  the  pass  we  had  just  crossed 
was  a  very  effective  safeguard.  He  would  be  a  bold  leader 
who  would  venture  to  bring  his  men  up  that  path  in  the  face 
of  half-a-dozen  armed  men,  and  they  need  not  be  very  bold 
men  either.  Those  soldiers  did  not  look  bold.  They  were 
kindly,  though,  and  they  had  women  and  children  with  them 
— I  conclude  their  own,  for  they  nursed  the  grubby  Uttle 
children,  all  clad  in  grubby  patches,  very  proudly,  took  such 
good  care  they  had  a  good  view  of  the  show — me — that  I 
could  not  but  sympathise  with  their  paternal  affection  and 
aid  in  every  way  in  my  power.  Generally  my  good-will 
took  the  form  of  raisins.  I  was  lavish  now  I  had  given  up 
my  journey,  and  my  master  of  transport  distributed  with 
an  air  as  if  I  were  bestowing  gold  and  silver. 

He  set  out  my  table  on  the  cobble-stones  of  the  inn-yard 
in  the  sunshine.  I  believe,  had  I  been  a  really  dignified 
traveller,  I  should  have  put  up  with  the  stuffiness  and  dark- 
ness of  the  inn's  one  room,  but  I  felt  the  recurrent  hard- 
boiled  eggs  and  puffed  rice,  with  a  certain  steamed  scone 
which  contained  more  of  the  millstone  and  less  of  the  flour 
than  was  usual  even  with  the  scones  of  the  country,  were 
trials  enough  without  trying  to  be  dignified  in  discomfort. 

And  while  I  had  my  meal  everybody  took  it  in  turns  to 
look  through  the  finder  of  my  camera,  the  women,  small- 
footed,  dirty  creatures,  much  to  the  surprise  of  their  menfolk, 
having  precedence.  Those  women  vowed  they  had  never 
seen  a  foreigner  before.    Every  one  of  them  had  bound  feet, 


CHINA'S  SORROW  125 

tiny  feet  on  which  they  could  just  totter,  and  all  were  clad 
in  extremely  dirty,  much-patched  blue  cotton  faded  into 
a  dingy  dirt-colour.  Most  of  them  wore  tight-fitting  cover- 
ings of  black  cloth  to  cover  their  scalps,  often  evidently  to 
conceal  their  baldness,  for  many  of  them  suffered  from 
"  expending  too  much  heart."  Baldness  is  caused,  say  the 
Chinese  half  in  fun,  because  the  luckless  man  or  woman 
has  thought  more  of  others  than  of  themselves.  I  am  afraid 
they  do  not  believe  it,  or  they  may  like  to  hide  their  good 
deeds,  for  they  are  anything  but  proud  of  being  bald.  Most 
of  the  mouths,  too,  here,  and  indeed  all  along  the  road,  were 
badly  formed  and  full  of  shockingly  broken  and  decayed 
teeth,  the  women's  particularly.  Wheaten  flour,  which  is 
the  staple  food  of  Shansi,  is  apparently  not  enough  to  make 
good  teeth.  The  people  were  not  of  a  markedly  Mongolian 
type.  Already  it  seemed  as  if  the  nations  to  the  West  were 
setting  their  seal  upon  them,  and  some  of  the  younger  girls, 
with  thick  black  hair  parted  in  the  middle,  a  little  colour 
in  their  cheeks,  and  somewhat  pathetic,  wistful-looking  faces, 
would  have  been  good-looking  in  any  land. 

Then  I  had  one  more  good  look  at  the  river,  my  farthest 
point  west  on  the  journey,  the  river  I  had  come  so  far  to 
see.  It  was  all  so  peaceful  in  the  afternoon  sunlight  that  it 
seemed  foolish  not  to  go  on.  The  hills  of  Shensi  beckoned 
and  all  my  fears  fell  fix)m  me.  I  wanted  badly  to  go  on. 
Then  came  reason.  It  was  madness  to  risk  the  tufeis  with 
whom  everyone  was  agreed  Shensi  swarmed.  There  in  the 
brilliant  sunshine,  with  the  laughing  people  around  me,  I 
was  not  afraid,  but  when  night  fell — no,  even  if  the  soldiers 
would  have  allowed,  which  Mr  Wang  declared  they  would 
not — I  dared  not,  and  I  turned  sadly  and  regretfully  and 
made  my  way  back  to  Fen  Chou  Fu. 

Had  I  gone  on  I  should  have  arrived  in  Russia  with  the 


126  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

war  in  full  swing,  so  on  the  whole  I  am  thankful  I  had  to 
flee  before  the  tufeis  of  Shensi.  Perhaps  when  the  world 
is  at  peace  I  shall  essay  that  fascinating  journey  again. 
Only  I  shall  look  out  for  some  companion,  and  even  if  I 
take  the  matchless  master  of  transport  I  shall  most  certainly 
see  to  it  that  I  have  a  good  cook. 


CHAPTER  Vni 

LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA 

Well,  I  had  failed  !  The  horrid  word  kept  ringing  in  my 
ears,  the  still  more  horrid  thought  was  ever  in  my  mind  day 
and  night  as  I  retraced  my  footsteps,  and  I  come  of  a  family 
that  does  not  like  to  fail. 

I  wondered  if  it  were  possible  to  make  my  way  along  the 
great  waterways  of  Siberia.  There  were  mighty  rivers  there, 
I  had  seen  them,  little-known  rivers,  and  it  seemed  to  me 
that  before  going  West  again  I  might  see  something  of 
them,  and  as  my  mules  picked  their  way  across  the  streams, 
along  the  stony  paths,  by  the  walled  cities,  through  the 
busy  little  villages,  already  China  was  behind  me,  I  was 
thinking  of  ways  and  means  by  which  I  might  penetrate 
Siberia. 

At  Fen  Chou  Fu  they  were  kind,  but  I  knew  they  thought 
I  had  given  in  too  easily,  that  I  had  turned  back  at  a  shadow, 
but  at  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  I  met  the  veteran  missionary,  Dr 
Edwards,  and  I  was  comforted  and  did  not  feel  so  markedly 
that  failure  was  branded  all  over  me  when  he  thanked  God 
that  his  letter  had  had  the  effect  of  making  me  consider 
carefully  my  ways,  for  of  one  thing  he  was  sure,  there  would 
have  been  but  one  ending  to  the  expedition.  To  get  to 
Lan  Chou  Fu  would  have  been  impossible. 

Still  my  mind  was  not  quite  at  ease  about  the  matter, 

and  at  intervals  I  wondered  if  I  would  not  have  gone  on 

had  I  liad  a  good  cook.     Rather  a  hiuniliating  thought !     It 

was  a  satisfaction  when  one  day  I  met  jMr  Reginald  Fairer, 

127 


128  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

who  had  left  Peking  with  Mr  Purdom  to  botanise  in  Kansu 
ten  days  before  I  too  had  proposed  to  start  West. 

"  I  often  wondered,"  said  he,  "  what  became  of  you  and 
how  you  had  got  on.    We  thought  perhaps  you  might  have 

fallen  into  the  hands  of  White  Wolf  and  then "  He 

paused. 

Shensi,  he  declared,  was  a  seething  mass  of  imrest.  It 
would  have  spelled  death  to  cross  to  those  peaceful  hills  I 
had  looked  at  from  the  left  bank  of  the  Hoang-Ho.  We 
discussed  our  travels,  and  we  took  diametrically  opposite 
views  of  China.  But  it  is  impossible  to  have  everything : 
one  has  to  choose,  and  I  prefer  the  crudeness  of  the  new 
world,  the  rush  and  the  scramble  and  the  progress,  to  the 
calm  of  the  Oriental.  Very  likely  this  is  because  I  am  a 
woman.  In  the  East  woman  holds  a  subservient  position, 
she  has  no  individuality  of  her  own,  and  I,  coming  from 
the  newest  new  world,  where  woman  has  a  very  high  place 
indeed,  is  counted  a  citizen,  and  a  useful  citizen,  could  hardly 
be  expected  to  admire  a  state  of  society  where  her  whole  life 
is  a  torture  and  her  position  is  regulated  by  her  value  to  the 
man  to  whom  she  belongs.  I  put  this  to  my  friend  when  he 
was  admiring  the  Chinese  ladies  and  he  laughed. 

"  I  admit,"  said  he,  "  that  a  young  woman  has  a  " — ^well, 
he  used  a  very  strong  expression,  but  it  wasn't  strong 
enough — "  of  a  time  when  she  is  young,  but,  if  she  has 
a  son,  when  her  husband  dies  see  what  a  position  she  holds. 
That  little  old  woman  sitting  on  a  k'ang  rules  a  whole 
commimity." 

And  then  I  gave  it  up  because  our  points  of  view  were 
East  and  West.  But  I  am  thankful  that  the  Fates  did  not 
make  me — a  woman — a  member  of  a  nation  where  I  could 
have  no  consideration,  no  chance  of  Imppiness,  no  great 
influence  or  power  by  my  own  effort,  where  recognition  only 


AVENUE  OF  TREES  ALONG  THE   WAYSIDE.  See  page   129. 


STRAW  BOARD  DRYING. 


Siee  page   I  JO. 


SW.."^ 

•^i'..:!^ 

(hi  . 

>■  jp"^ 

[■•pWiiP^.i 

TEMPLE   AT  TSUI   SU. 
See  pag3   131. 


TWISTED  TREES  IN   TEMPLE  GROUND. 
See  page   i  3 1 . 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  129 

came  if  I  had  borne  a  son  who  was  still  living  and  my 
husband  was  dead. 

On  my  way  back  to  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  I  stayed  at  no  mission 
station  except  at  Fen  Chou  Fu ;  I  went  by  a  different  route 
and  spent  the  nights  at  miserable  inns  that  kindly  charged 
me  a  whole  peimy  for  lodging  and  allowed  me  to  sleep  in  my 
litter  in  their  yards,  and  about  eighty  li  from  Fen  Chou  Fu 
I  came  across  evidences  of  another  mission  that  would  be 
anathema  maranatha  to  the  Nonconformists  with  whom  I 
had  been  staying.  It  is  curious  this  schism  between  two 
bodies  holding  what  purports  to  be  the  same  faith.  I 
remember  a  missionary,  the  wife  of  a  doctor  at  Ping  Ting 
Chou,  who  belonged  to  a  sect  called  The  Brethren,  who 
spoke  of  the  Roman  Catholics  as  if  they  were  in  as  much 
need  of  conversion  as  the  ignorant  Chinese  around  her.  It 
made  me  smile ;  yet  I  strongly  suspect  that  Mr  Farrer  will 
put  me  jn  the  same  category  as  I  put  my  friend  from  Ping 
Ting  Chou !  However,  here  under  the  care  of  the  Alsatian 
Fathers  the  country  was  most  beautifully  cultivated.  The 
wheat  was  growing  tall  and  lush  in  the  land,  emerald-green 
in  the  May  sunshine  ;  there  were  avenues  of  trees  along  the 
wayside  clothed  in  the  tender  fresh  green  of  spring,  and  I 
came  upon  a  whole  village,  men  and  boys,  busy  making  a 
bridge  across  a  stream.  Never  in  China  have  I  seen  such 
evidences  of  well-conducted  agricultural  industry ;  and  the 
Fathers  were  militant  too,  for  they  were,  and  probably  are, 
armed,  and  in  the  Boxer  trouble  held  their  station  like  a 
fort,  and  any  missionaries  fleeing  who  reached  them  had  their 
lives  saved.  I  foimd  much  to  commend  in  that  Roman 
Catholic  mission,  and  felt  they  were  as  useful  to  the  country 
people  in  their  way  as  were  the  Americans  to  the  people  of 
the  towns. 

Outside  another  little  town  the  population  seemed  to  be 


130  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

given  over  to  the  making  of  strawboard,  and  great  banks 
were  plastered  ^vith  squares  of  it  set  out  to  dry,  and  every 
here  and  there  a  man  was  engaged  in  putting  more  pieces 
up.  It  was  rather  a  comical  effect  to  see  the  side  of  a  bank 
plastered  with  yellow  squares  of  strawboard  and  the  wheat 
springing  on  top. 

All  along  the  route  still  went  caravans  of  camels,  mules 
and  donkeys,  and,  strangest  of  all  modes  of  conveyance, 
wheel-barrows,  heavily  laden  too.  A  wheel-barrow  in 
China  carries  goods  on  each  side  of  a  great  wheel,  a  man 
holds  up  the  shafts  and  wheels  it,  usually  with  a  strap  round 
his  shoulders,  and  in  front  either  another  man  or  a  donkey 
is  harnessed  to  help  with  the  traction.  Himdreds  of  miles 
they  go,  over  the  roughest  way,  and  the  labour  must  be  very 
heavy ;  but  wherever  I  went  in  China  this  was  impressed 
upon  me,  that  man  was  the  least  important  factor  in  any 
work  of  production.  He  might  be  used  tiU  he  failed  and 
then  thrown  lightly  away  without  a  qualm.  There  were 
plenty  glad  enough  to  take  his  place. 

I  have  been  taken  to  task  for  comparing  China  to  Babylon, 
but  I  must  make  some  comparison  to  bring  home  things  to 
my  readers.  This  journey  tlu'ough  the  country  in  the  warm 
spring  simshine  was  as  unlike  a  journey  anywhere  that  I 
have  been  in  Europe,  Africa  or  Australia  as  anything  could 
possibly  be.  It  was  through  an  old  land,  old  when  Europe 
was  young.  I  stopped  at  inns  that  were  the  disgusting 
product  of  the  slums ;  I  passed  men  working  in  the  fields 
who  were  survivals  of  an  old  civilisation,  and  when  I  passed 
any  house  that  was  not  a  hovel  it  was  secluded  carefidly, 
so  that  the  owner  and  his  womenkind  might  keep  them- 
selves apart  from  the  proletariat,  the  serfs  who  laboured 
around  them  and  for  them. 

Within  a  day's  journey  of  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  I  came  to  a  little 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  131 

town,  Tsui  Su,  where  there  was'  an  extra  vile  inn  with  no 
courtyard  that  I  could  sleep  in,  only  a  room  where  the  rats 
were  numei-ous  and  so  fierce  that  they  drove  Buchanan  for 
refuge  to  my  bed  and  the  objectionable  insects  that  I  hustled 
off  the  k^ang  by  means  of  powdered  borax  and  Keating' s, 
strewed  over  and  under  the  ground  sheet,  crawled  up  the 
walls  and  dropped  down  upon  me  from  the  ceiling.  Poor 
Buchanan  and  I  spent  a  horrid  night.  I  don't  like  rats  any- 
way, and  fierce  and  hungry  rats  on  the  spot  are  far  worse 
for  keeping  off  sleep  than  possible  robbers  in  the  future. 
All  that  night  I  dozed  and  waked  and  restrained  Buchanan's 
energies  and  vowed  I  was  a  fool  for  coming  to  China,  and 
then  in  the  morning  as  usual  I  walked  it  all  back,  and  was 
glad,  for  Mr  Wang  came  to  me  and,  after  the  best  personally 
conducted  Cook's  tourist  style,  explained  that  here  was  a 
temple  which  "  mus'  see." 

I  didn't  believe  much  in  temples  in  these  parts,  but  I  went 
a  little  way  back  into  the  towTi  and  came  to  a  really  wonderful 
temple,  built,  I  think,  over  nine  warm  springs — the  sort  of 
thing  that  weighed  down  the  scales  heavily  on  Mr  Farrer's 
side.  What  has  a  nation  that  could  produce  such  a  temple 
to  learn  from  the  West  ?  I  shall  never  forget  the  carved 
dragons  in  red  and  gold  that  climbed  the  pillars  at  the 
principal  entrance,  the  twisted  trees,  the  shrines  over 
the  springs  and  the  bronze  figures  that  stood  guard  on  the 
platfonn  at  the  entrance  gate.  The  steps  up  to  that  gate 
were  w'orn  and  broken  ^vith  the  passing  of  many  feet  through 
countless  years  ;  the  yellow  tiles  of  the  roof  were  falling  and 
broken ;  from  the  figmes  had  been  torn  or  had  fallen  the 
arms  that  they  once  had  borne  ;  the  whole  place  was  typical 
of  the  decay  which  China  allows  to  fall  upon  her  holy  places ; 
but  seen  in  the  glamour  of  the  early  morning,  with  the  grass 
springing   underfoot,  the   trees  in   full  leaf,  the  sunshine 


132  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

lighting  the  yellow  roofs  and  the  tender  green  of  the  trees, 
it  was  gorgeous.  Then  the  clouds  gathered  and  it  began  to 
rain,  gentle,  soft,  wann,  growing  rain,  and  I  left  it  shrouded 
in  a  seductive  grey  mist  that  veiled  its  imperfections  and  left 
me  a  memory  only  of  one  of  the  beautiful  places  of  the  earth 
that  I  am  glad  I  have  seen. 

At  T'ai  Yuan  Fu  I  paid  Mr  Wang's  fare  back  to  Pao  Ting 
Fu  and  bade  him  a  glad  farewell.  There  may  be  Morse 
inteipreters  in  China,  but  I  really  hope  there  are  not  many. 
He  would  have  been  a  futile  person  in  any  country  ;  he  was 
a  helpless  product  of  age-old  China.  I  believe  he  did  get 
back  safely,  but  I  must  confess  to  feeling  on  sending  him 
away  much  as  I  should  do  were  I  to  turn  loose  a  baby  of 
four  to  find  his  way  across  London.  Indeed  I  have  met 
many  babies  of  four  in  Australia  who  stioick  me  as  being 
far  more  capable  than  the  inteipreter  who  had  undertaken 
to  see  me  across  China. 

I  was  on  the  loose  myself  now.  I  was  bent  on  going  to 
Siberia  ;  but  the  matter  had  to  be  arranged  in  my  own  mind 
first,  and  Avhile  I  did  so  I  lingered  and  spent  a  day  or  two 
at  Hwailu  ;  not  that  I  wanted  to  see  that  to^vn — somehow 
I  had  done  with  China — but  because  the  personality  of  Mr 
and  Mi^  Green  of  the  China  Inland  Mission  interested  me. 

Hwailu  is  a  small  walled  city,  exactly  like  hundreds  of 
other  little  walled  cities,  with  walls  four-square  to  each  point 
of  the  compass,  and  it  is  set  where  the  hills  begin  to  rise 
tliat  divide  Chilili  from  Shansi,  and  beyond  the  mission  station 
is  a  square  hill  called  Nm'sing  Calf  Fort.  Tlie  hill  lias 
steep  sides  up  which  it  is  almost  impossible  to  take  any 
animal,  but  there  are  about  one  hundred  acres  of  arable 
land  on  top,  and  this,  with  true  Chinese  thrift,  could  not 
be  allowed  to  go  untilled,  so  the  story  goes  that  while  a 
calf  was  young  a  man  carried  it  up  on  his  back  ;  there  it  grew 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  133 

to  maturity,  and  with  its  help  they  ploughed  the  land  and 
they  reaped  the  crops.  It  is  a  truly  Chinese  story,  and  very 
likely  it  is  true.     It  is  exactly  what  the  Chinese  would  do. 

At  Hwailu,  where  they  had  lived  for  many  years,  Mr  and 
Mrs  Green  were  engaged  in  putting  up  a  new  church,  and 
with  them  I  came  in  contact  with  missionai'ies  who  had 
actually  suffered  almost  to  death  at  the  hands  of  the  Boxers. 
It  was  thrilling  to  listen  to  the  tales  of  their  sufferings, 
sitting  there  on  the  verandah  of  the  mission  house  looking 
out  on  to  the  peaceful  flowers  and  shrubs  of  the  mission 
garden. 

WTien  the  Boxer  trouble  spread  to  Hwailu  and  it  was 
manifest  the  mission  house  was  no  longer  safe,  they  took 
refuge  in  a  cave  among  the  hills  that  surround  the  towTi. 
Their  converts  and  friends — for  they  had  many  friends 
who  were  not  converts — hardly  dared  come  near  them,  and 
death  was  very  close.  It  was  damp  and  cold  in  the  cave 
though  it  was  summer-time,  and  by  and  by  they  had  eaten 
all  their  food  and  drunk  all  their  water,  and  their  hearts 
were  heavy,  for  they  feared  not  only  for  themselves,  but  for 
what  the  little  children  must  suffer. 

"  I  could  not  help  it,"  said  Mrs  Green,  reproaching  herself 
for  being  human.  "  I  used  to  look  at  my  children  and 
wonder  how  the  saints  could  rejoice  in  martyrdom !  " 

Wlien  they  were  in  despair  and  thinking  of  coming  out 
and  giving  themselves  up  they  heard  hushed  voices,  and  a 
hand  at  the  opening  of  the  cave  offered  five  large  wheaten 
scones.  Some  friends,  again  not  converts,  merely  pagan 
friends,  had  remembered  their  sufferings.  Still  they  looked 
at  the  scones  doubtfully,  and  though  the  little  children — 
they  were  only  four  and  six — held  out  their  liands  for  them 
eagerly,  they  were  obliged  to  implore  them  not  to  eat  them, 
they  would  make  them  so  desperately  thirsty.    But  their 


134  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

Chinese  friends  were  thoughtful  as  well  as  kind,  and  pre- 
sently came  the  same  soft  voice  again  and  a  hand  sending 
up  a  basketful  of  luscious  cucumbers,  cool  and  refreshing 
with  their  store  of  water. 

But  they  could  not  stay  there  for  ever,  and  finally  they 
made  their  way  do^vn  to  the  river  bank,  the  Ching  River — 
the  Clear  River  we  called  it,  and  I  have  also  heard  it  trans- 
lated the  Dark  Blue  River,  though  it  was  neither  dark,  nor 
blue,  nor  clear,  simply  a  muddy  canal — and  slowly  made  their 
way  in  the  direction  of  Tientsin,  hundreds  of  miles  away. 
That  story  of  the  devoted  little  band's  wanderings  makes 
pitiful  reading.  Sometimes  they  went  by  boat,  sometimes 
they  crept  along  in  the  kaoliang  and  reeds,  and  at  last  they 
arrived  at  the  outskirts  of  Hsi  An — not  the  great  city  in 
Shensi,  but  a  small  walled  town  on  the  Ching  River  in  Chihli. 
Western  cities  are  as  common  in  China  as  new  towns  in 
English-speaking  lands — and  here  they,  hearing  a  band  was 
after  them,  hid  themselves  in  the  kaoliang,  the  grain  that 
grows  close  and  tall  as  a  man.  They  were  weary  and  worn 
and  starved  ;  they  were  well-nigh  hopeless — at  least  I  should 
have  been  hopeless — ^but  still  their  faith  upheld  them.  It 
was  the  height  of  summer  and  the  sun  poured  down  his 
rays,  but  towards  evening  the  clouds  gathered.  If  it 
rained  they  knew  with  little  children  they  must  leave  their 
refuge. 

"But  surely,  I  know,"  said  Mrs  Green,  "the  dear  Lord 
will  never  let  it  rain." 

And  as  I  looked  at  her  I  seemed  to  see  the  passionate 
yearning  with  which  she  looked  at  the  little  children  that 
the  rain  must  doom  to  a  Chinese  prison  or  worse.  In  among 
those  thick  kaoliang  stalks  they  could  not  stay. 

It  rained,  the  heavy  rain  that  comes  in  the  Chinese  summer, 
and  the  fugitives  crept  out  and  gave  themselves  up. 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  185 

"  It  shows  how  ignorant  we  are,  how  unfit  to  judge  for 
ourselves,"  said  the  teller  of  the  tale  fervently,  "  for  we  fell 
into  the  hands  of  a  comparatively  merciful  band,  whereas 
presently  the  kaoliang  was  beaten  by  a  ruthless  set  of  men 
whom  there  would  have  been  no  escaping,  and  who  certainly 
would  have  killed  us." 

But  the  tenderness  of  the  most  merciful  band  was  a  thing 
to  be  prayed  against.  They  carried  the  children  kindly 
enough — ^the  worst  of  Chinamen  seem  to  be  good  to  children 
— but  they  constantly  threatened  their  elders  with  death. 
They  were  going  to  their  death,  that  they  made  very  clear 
to  them  ;  and  they  slung  them  on  poles  by  their  hands  and 
feet,  and  the  pins  came  out  of  the  women's  long  hair — there 
was  another  teacher,  a  girl,  with  them — and  it  trailed  in  the 
dust  of  the  filthy  Chinese  paths.  And  Mr  Green  was  faint 
and  weary  from  a  wound  in  his  neck,  but  still  they  had  no 
pity. 

Still  these  devoted  people  comforted  each  other.  It  was 
the  will  of  the  Lord.  Always  was  He  with  them.  They 
were  taken  to  Pao  Ting  Fu,  Pao  Ting  Fu  that  had  just  burned 
its  own  missionaries,  and  put  in  the  gaol  there — and,  know- 
ing a  Chinese  inn,  I  wonder  what  can  be  the  a^N'fulness  of 
a  Chinese  gaol — and  they  were  allowed  no  privacy.  Mrs 
Green  had  dysentery  ;  they  had  not  even  a  change  of  clothes ; 
but  the  soldiers  were  always  in  the  rooms  with  them,  or 
at  any  rate  in  the  outer  room,  and  this  was  done,  of  course, 
of  malice  prepense,  for  no  one  values  the  privacy  of  their 
women  more  than  the  Chinese.  The  girl  got  permission  to 
go  down  to  the  river  to  wash  their  clothes,  but  a  soldier 
always  accompanied  her,  and  always  the  crowds  jeered  and 
taunted  as  she  went  along  in  the  glaring  sunshine,  feeling 
that  nothing  was  hidden  from  these  scornful  people.  Only 
strangely  to  the  children  were  they  kind ;  the  soldiers  used  to 


136  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

give  them  copper  coins  so  that  they  might  buy  Httle  scones 
and  cakes  to  eke  out  the  scanty  rations,  and  once — it  brought 
home  to  me,  perhaps  as  nothing  else  could,  the  deprivations 
of  such  a  life — ^instead  of  buying  the  much-needed  food  the 
women  bought  a  whole  pennyworth  of  hairpins,  for  their 
long  hair  was  about  their  shoulders,  and  though  they 
bi-ushed  it  to  the  best  of  their  ability  with  their  hands  it 
was  to  them  an  unseemly  thing. 

And  before  the  order  came — everything  is  ordered  in 
China — that  their  lives  were  to  be  saved  and  they  were  to 
be  sent  to  Tientsin  the  little  maid  who  had  done  so  much 
to  cheer  and  alleviate  their  hard  lot  lay  dying;  the  hard- 
ships and  the  coarse  food  had  been  too  much  for  her.  In 
the  filth  and  misery  of  the  ghastly  Chinese  prison  she  lay, 
and,  bending  over  her,  they  picked  the  lice  off  her.  Think 
of  that,  ye  folk  who  guard  your  little  ones  tenderly  and  love 
them  as  these  missionaries  who  feel  called  upon  to  convert 
the  Chinese  loved  theirs. 

After  all  that  suffering  they  went  back,  back  to  Hwailu 
and  the  desolated  mission  station  under  the  Nursing  Calf 
Fort,  where  they  contmue  their  work  to  this  day,  and  so 
will  continue  it,  I  suppose,  to  the  end,  for  most  surely  their 
sufferings  and  their  endurance  have  fitted  them  for  the  work 
they  have  at  heart  as  no  one  who  has  not  so  suffered  and 
endured  could  be  fitted.  And  so  I  think  the  whirligig  of 
Time  brings  in  his  revenges. 

I  walked  through  a  tremendous  dust-storm  to  the  railway 
station  at  the  other  side  of  the  town,  and  the  woman  who 
had  suffered  these  awful  things,  and  who  was  as  sweet  and 
charming  and  lovable  a  woman  as  I  have  ever  met,  walked 
•with  me  and  bade  me  God-speed  on  my  journey,  and  when 
I  parted  from  her  I  knew  that  among  a  class  I — ^till  I  came 
to  China — ^had  always  strenuously  opposed  I  had  found  one 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  im 

whom  I  could  not  only  respect,  but  whom  I  could  love  and 
admire. 

Going  back  to  Pao  Ting  Fu  was  like  going  back  to  old 
friends.  Tliey  had  not  received  my  letter.  Mr  Wang  had 
not  made  his  appearance,  so  when  James  Buchanan  and  I, 
attended  by  the  master  of  transport,  appeared  upon  the  scene 
on  a  hot  summer  day  we  found  the  missionary  party  having 
their  midday  dinner  on  the  verandah,  and  they  received  me — 
bless  their  kmd  hearts  ! — -wdth  open  arms,  and  proceeded  to 
explam  to  me  how  very  wise  a  thing  I  had  done  in  coming 
back.  The  moment  I  had  left,  they  said,  they  had  been 
uncomfortable  in  the  part  they  had  taken  in  forwarding  me 
on  my  journey. 

It  was  very  good  of  them.  There  are  days  we  always 
remember  all  our  lives — our  wedding  day  and  such-like — 
and  that  coming  back  on  the  warm  smnmer's  day  out  of  the 
hot,  dusty  streets  of  the  western  suburb  into  the  cool,  clean, 
tree-shaded  compound  of  the  American  missionaries  at  Pao 
Ting  Fu  is  one  of  them.  And  that  compound  is  one  of 
the  places  in  the  world  I  much  want  to  visit  again. 

There  is  another  day,  too,  I  shall  not  lightly  forget.  We 
called  it  the  last  meeting  of  the  Travellers'  Club  of  Pao  Ting 
Fu.  There  were  only  two  members  in  the  club,  Mr  Long  and 
I  and  an  honorary  member,  James  Buchanan,  and  on  this 
day  the  club  decided  to  meet,  and  Mr  Long  asked  me  to 
dinner.  He  lived  in  the  Chinese  college  in  the  northern 
suburb.  His  house  was  only  about  two  miles  away  and  it 
could  be  reached  generally  by  going  round  by  the  farms 
and  graves,  mostly  graves,  that  cover  the  ground  by  the 
rounded  north-west  corner  of  the  wall  of  the  city.  Outside 
a  city  in  China  is  ugly.  True,  the  walls  are  strangely  old- 
world  and  the  moat  is  a  relic  of  the  past — ^useful  in  these 
modem   times  for  disposing  of  unwanted  puppies ;    Pao 


11B8  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

Ting  Fu  never  seemed  so  hard  up  for  food  as  Shansi — but 
otherwise  the  ground  looks  much  as  the  deserted  alluvial 
goldfields  round  Ballarat  used  to  look  in  the  days  of  my 
youth ;  the  houses  are  ramshackle  to  the  last  degree,  and  all 
the  fields,  even  when  they  are  green  with  the  growing  grain, 
look  unfinished.  But  round  the  north-west  corner  of  Pao 
Ting  Fu  the  graves  predominate.  There  are  thousands  and 
thousands  of  them.  And  on  that  particular  day  it  rained, 
it  rained,  and  it  rained,  steady  warm  sunmier  rain  that 
only  stopped  and  left  the  air  fresh  and  washed  about  six 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  I  ordered  a  rickshaw — a  rickshaw 
in  Pao  Ting  Fu  is  a  very  primitive  conveyance ;  but  it  was 
pleasantly  warm,  and,  with  James  Buchanan  on  my  knee, 
in  the  last  evening  dress  that  remained  to  me  and  an  em- 
broidered Chinese  jacket  for  an  opera  cloak,  I  set  out.  I 
had  started  early  because  on  account  of  the  rain  the  mis- 
sionaries opined  there  might  be  a  little  difficulty  with  the 
roads.  However,  I  did  not  worry  much  because  I  only  had 
two  miles  to  go,  and  I  had  walked  it  often  in  less  than  three- 
quarters  of  an  hour.  I  was  a  little  surprised  when  my  rick- 
shaw man  elected  to  go  through  the  town,  but,  as  I  could 
not  speak  the  language,  I  was  not  in  a  position  to  remon- 
strate, and  I  knew  we  could  not  come  back  that  way  as  at 
sundown  all  the  gates  shut  save  the  western,  and  that  only 
waits  till  the  last  train  at  nine  o'clock. 

It  was  muddy,  red,  clayey  mud  in  the  western  suburb 
when  we  started,  but  when  we  got  into  the  northern  part 
of  the  town  I  was  reminded  of  the  tribulations  of  Fen  Chou 
Fu  in  the  summer  rains,  for  the  water  was  up  to  our  axles, 
the  whole  place  was  like  a  lake  and  the  people  were  piling 
up  dripping  goods  to  get  them  out  of  the  way  of  the  very 
dirty  flood.  My  man  only  paused  to  turn  his  trousers  up 
round  his  thighs  and  then  went  on  again — going  through 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  189 

floods  was  apparently  all  in  the  contract — but  we  went  very 
slowly  indeed.  Dinner  was  not  until  eight  and  I  had  given 
myself  plenty  of  time,  but  I  began  to  wonder  whether  we 
should  arrive  at  that  hour.     Presently  I  knew  we  shouldn't. 

We  went  through  the  northern  gate,  and  to  my  dismay 
the  country  in  the  fading  light  seemed  under  water.  From 
side  to  side  and  far  beyond  the  road  was  covered,  and  what 
those  waters  hid  I  trembled  to  think,  for  a  road  at  any  time 
in  China  is  a  doubtful  proposition  and  by  no  means  spells 
security.  As  likely  as  not  there  were  deep  holes  in  it.  But 
apparently  my  coolie  had  no  misgivings.  In  he  went  at 
his  usual  snail's  pace  and  the  water  swirled  up  to  the  axles, 
up  to  the  floor  of  the  rickshaw,  and  when  I  had  gathered 
my  feet  up  on  the  seat  and  we  were  in  the  middle  of  the 
sheet  of  exceedingly  dirty  water  the  rickshaw  coolie  stopped 
and  gave  me  to  understand  that  he  had  done  his  darnedest 
and  could  do  no  more.  He  dropped  the  shafts  and  stood  a 
little  way  off,  wringing  the  water  out  of  his  garments.  It 
wasn't  dangerous,  of  course,  but  it  was  distinctly  uncom- 
fortable. I  saw  myself  in  evening  dress  wading  through  tsvo 
feet  of  dirty  water  to  a  clayey,  slippery  bank  at  the  side. 
I  waited  a  little  because  the  prospect  did  not  please  me,  and 
though  there  were  plenty  of  houses  roimd,  there  was  not  a 
soul  in  sight.  It  was  getting  dark  too,  and  it  was  after 
eight  o'clock. 

Presently  a  figure  materialised  on  that  clayey  bank  and 
him  I  beckoned  vehemently. 

Now  Pao  Ting  Fu  had  seen  foreigners,  not  many,  but  still 
foreigners,  and  they  spell  to  it  a  little  extra  cash,  so  the 
gentleman  on  the  bank  tucked  up  his  garments  and  came 
wading  over.  He  and  my  original  friend  took  a  madden- 
ingly long  time  discussing  the  situation,  and  then  they  pro- 
ceeded to  drag  the  rickshaw  sideways  to  the  bank.    There 


140  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

was  a  nan'ow  pathway  along  the  top  and  they  apparently 
decided  that  if  they  could  get  the  conveyance  up  there  we 
might  proceed  on  our  journey.  First  I  had  to  step  out,  and 
it  looked  slippery  enough  to  make  me  a  little  doubtful.  As 
a  preliminary  I  handed  James  Buchanan  to  the  stranger, 
because,  as  he  had  to  sit  on  my  knee,  I  did  not  want  him 
to  get  dirtier  than  necessary.  Buchanan  did  not  like  the 
stranger,  but  he  submitted  with  a  bad  gi-ace  till  I,  stepping 
out,  slipped  on  the  clay  and  fell  flat  on  my  back,  when  he 
promptly  bit  the  man  who  Avas  holding  him  and,  getting 
away,  expressed  his  sympathy  by  licking  my  face.  Such  a 
commotion  as  there  was !  My  two  men  yelled  in  dismay. 
Buchanan  barked  furiously,  and  I  had  some  ado  to  get  on 
my  feet  again,  for  the  path  was  very  slippery.  It  was  long 
past  eight  now  and  could  I  have  gone  back  I  would  have 
done  so,  but  clearly  that  was  impossible,  so  by  signs  I  engaged 
No.  2  man,  whose  wounds  had  to  be  salved — copper  did  it — 
to  push  behind,  and  we  resumed  our  way. 

Briefly  it  was  long  after  ten  o'clock  when  I  arrived  at  the 
college.  My  host  had  given  me  up  as  a  bad  job  long  before 
and,  not  being  well,  had  gone  to  bed.  There  was  nothing 
for  it  but  to  rouse  him  up,  because  I  wanted  to  explain  that 
I  thought  I  had  better  have  another  man  to  take  me  home 
over  the  still  worse  road  that  I  knew  ran  outside  the  city. 

He  made  me  most  heartily  welcome  and  then  explained 
to  my  dismay  that  the  men  utterly  declined  to  go  any 
farther,  declared  no  rickshaw  could  get  over  the  road  to  the 
western  suburb  and  that  I  must  have  a  cart.  That  was 
all  very  well,  but  where  was  I  to  get  a  cart  at  that  time  of 
night,  with  the  city  gates  shut  ? 

Mr  Long  explained  that  his  servant  was  a  wise  and  re- 
som'ceful  man  and  would  probably  get  one  if  I  would  come 
in  and  have  dinner.    So  the  two  members  of  the  Travellers' 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  141 

Club  sat  down  to  an  excellent  dinner — a  Chinese  cook  doesn't 
spoil  a  dinner  because  you  are  two  hours  late — and  we  tried 
to  take  a  flash-light  photogi-aph  of  the  enteitaiiunent.  Alas ! 
I  was  not  fortimate  that  day ;  something  went  wrong  with 
the  magnesiiun  light  and  we  burnt  up  most  things.  How- 
ever, we  ourselves  were  all  right,  and  at  two  o'clock  in 
the  mornmg  Mr  Long's  servant's  imcle,  or  cousin,  or  some 
relative,  arrived  ^v^th  a  Peking  cart  and  a  good  substantial 
mule.  I  confess  I  was  a  bit  doubtful  about  the  journey  home 
because  I  knew  the  state  of  repair,  or  rather  disrepair,  of  a 
couple  of  bridges  we  had  to  cross,  but  they  were  negotiated, 
and  just  as  the  da\vn  was  beginning  to  break  I  anived 
at  tlie  mission  compound  and  rewarded  the  adventurous 
men  who  had  had  charge  of  me  with  what  seemed  to  them 
much  silver  and  to  me  very  little.  I  have  been  to  many 
dumers  in  my  life,  but  the  last  meeting  of  the  Ti-avellers' 
Club  at  Pao  Ting  Fu  remains  engi'aved  on  my  memory. 

Yet  a  little  longer  I  waited  in  Pao  Ting  Fu  before  starting 
on  my  Siberian  trip,  for  the  start  was  to  be  made  from 
Tientsin  and  the  missionaries  were  going  there  in  house-boats. 
They  were  bound  for  Pei  Ta  Ho  for  their  summer  holiday 
and  the  first  stage  of  the  journey  Avas  do^^^l  the  Ching  River 
to  Tientsin.  I  thought  it  would  be  rather  a  pleasant  way 
of  getting  over  the  country-,  and  it  M'ould  be  pleasant  too  to 
have  company.  I  am  not  enamoured  of  my  own  society ; 
I  can  manage  alone,  but  company  certainly  has  great  charms. 

So  I  waited,  and  while  I  waited  I  bought  curios. 

In  Pao  Ting  Fu  in  the  revolution  there  was  a  great  deal 
of  looting  done,  and  when  order  reigned  again  it  was  as 
much  as  a  man's  life  was  worth  to  try  and  dispose  of  any  of 
his  loot.  A  foreigner  who  would  take  the  things  right  out  of 
the  country  was  a  perfect  godsend,  and  once  it  was  known  I 
was  buying,  men  waited  for  me  the  livelong  day,  and  I  only 


142  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

had  to  put  my  nose  outside  the  house  to  be  pounced  upon  by 
a  would-be  seller.  I  have  had  as  many  as  nine  men  selling 
at  once ;  they  enlisted  the  servants,  and  china  ranged 
round  the  kitchen  floor,  and  embroideries,  brass  and  mirrors 
were  stowed  away  in  the  pantry.  Indeed  I  and  my  fol- 
lowers must  have  been  an  awful  nuisance  to  the  missionaries. 
They  knew  no  English,  but  as  I  could  count  a  little  in 
Chinese,  when  we  could  not  get  an  interpreter  we  managed ; 
and  I  expect  I  bought  an  immense  amount  of  rubbish,  but 
never  in  my  life  have  I  had  greater  satisfaction  in  spending 
money.  More  than  ever  was  I  pleased  when  I  unpacked  in 
England,  and  I  have  been  pleased  ever  since. 

Those  sellers  were  persistent.  They  said  in  effect  that 
never  before  had  they  had  such  a  chance  and  they  were 
going  to  make  the  best  of  it.  We  engaged  house-boats  for 
our  transit ;  we  went  down  to  those  boats,  we  pushed  off 
from  the  shore,  and  even  then  there  were  sellers  bent  on 
making  the  best  of  their  last  chance.  I  bought  there  on 
the  boat  a  royal  blue  vase  for  two  dollars  and  a  quaint  old 
brass  mirror  in  a  carved  wooden  frame  also  for  two  dollars, 
and  then  the  boatmen  cleared  off  the  merchants  and  we 
started. 

I  expect  on  the  banks  of  the  Euphrates  or  the  Tigris  in 
the  days  before  the  dawn  of  history  men  went  backwards 
and  forwards  in  boats  like  these  we  embarked  in  on  the  little 
river  just  outside  the  south  gate  of  Pao  Ting  Fu.  We  had 
three  boats.  Dr  and  Mrs  Lewis  and  their  children  had  the 
largest,  with  their  servants,  and  we  all  made  arrangements 
to  mess  on  board  their  boat.  Miss  Ne^vton  and  a  friend  had 
another,  with  more  of  the  servants,  and  I,  like  a  millionaire, 
had  one  all  to  myself.  I  had  parted  with  the  master  of 
transport  at  Pao  Ting  Fu,  but  Hsu  Sen,  one  of  the  Lewis's 
servants,  waited  upon  me  and  made  up  my  bed  in  the  open 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  143 

part  of  the  boat  under  a  little  roof.  The  cabins  were  behind, 
low  little  places  like  rabbit  hutches,  %vith  little  \vindows  and 
little  doors  through  which  I  could  get  by  going  do^sMi  on  my 
knees.  I  used  them  only  for  my  luggage,  so  was  enabled  to 
offer  a  passage  to  a  sewing-woman  who  would  be  exceed- 
ingly useful  to  the  missionaries.  She  had  had  her  feet  bound 
in  her  youth  and  was  rather  crippled  in  consequence,  and  she 
bought  her  own  food,  as  I  bought  my  water,  at  the  wayside 
places  as  we  passed.  She  was  a  foolish  soul,  like  most  Chinese 
women,  and  took  great  interest  in  Buchanan,  offering  him 
always  a  share  of  her  own  meals,  which  consisted  apparently 
largely  of  cuciunbers  and  the  tasteless  Chinese  melon.  Now 
James  Buchanan  was  extremely  polite,  always  accepting 
what  was  offered  him,  but  he  could  not  possibly  eat  cucumber 
and  melon,  and  when  I  went  to  bed  at  night  I  often  came 
in  contact  with  something  cold  and  clanuny  which  invariably 
turned  out  to  be  fragments  of  the  sewing-woman's  meals 
bestowed  upon  my  courtly  little  dog.  I  forgave  him  because 
of  his  good  manners.  There  really  was  nowhere  else  to  hide 
them. 

They  were  pleasant  days  we  spent  meandering  down  the 
river.  We  passed  by  little  farms  ;  we  passed  by  villages,  by 
fishing  traps,  by  walled  cities.  Hsi  An  Fu,  vnth  the  water 
of  the  river  flowing  at  the  foot  of  its  castellated  walls,  was 
like  a  city  of  romance,  and  when  we  came  upon  little  market- 
places by  the  water's  edge  the  romance  deepened,  for  we 
knew  then  how  the  people  lived.  Sometimes  we  paused 
and  bought  provisions ;  sometimes  we  got  out  and  strolled 
along  the  banks  in  the  pleasant  smnmer  weather.  Never 
have  I  gone  a  more  delightful  or  more  unique  voyage.  And 
at  last  we  arrived  at  Tientsin  and  I  parted  from  my  friends, 
and  they  went  on  to  Pei  Ta  Ho  and  I  to  Astor  House  to 
prepare  for  my  journey  east  and  north. 


144  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

And  so  I  left  China,  China  where  I  had  dwelt  for  sixteen 
months,  China  that  has  been  civilised  so  long  and  is  a 
world  apart,  and  now  I  sit  in  my  comfortable  sitting-room 
in  England  and  read  what  the  papers  say  of  China ;  and  the 
China  I  know  and  the  China  of  the  newspapers  is  quite  a 
different  place.  It  is  another  world.  China  has  come  into 
the  war.  On  our  side,  of  course :  the  Chinaman  is  far  too 
astute  to  meddle  with  a  losing  cause.  But,  after  all,  what 
do  the  peasants  of  Cliihli  and  the  cave-dwellers  in  the  yaos 
of  Shansi  know  about  a  world's  war  ?  The  very,  very  small 
section  that  rules  China  manages  these  affairs,  and  the  mass 
of  the  population  are  exactly  as  they  were  in  the  days  of  the 
Caesars,  or  before  the  first  djiiasty  in  Egypt  for  that  matter. 

"  China,"  said  one  day  to  me  a  man  who  knew  it  well 
commercially,  just  before  I  left,  "  was  never  in  so  promising 
a  condition.  All  the  taxes  are  coming  in  and  money  was 
never  so  easy  to  get." 

"  There  was  a  row  over  the  new  tax,"  said  a  missionary 
sadly,  in  the  part  I  know  well,  "  in  a  little  village  beyond 
there.  The  village  attacked  the  tax-collectors  and  the 
soldiers  fell  upon  the  villagers  and  thirteen  men  were  killed. 
Oh,  I  know  they  say  it  is  only  nominal,  but  what  is  merely 
nominal  to  outsiders  is  their  all  to  these  poor  villagers.  They 
must  pay  the  tax  and  starve,  or  resist  and  be  killed." 

He  did  not  say  they  were  between  the  devil  and  the  deep 
sea,  because  he  was  a  missionary,  but  I  said  it  for  him,  and 
there  were  two  cases  like  that  which  came  •within  my  ken 
during  my  last  month  in  China. 

The  fact  of  the  matter  is,  I  suppose,  that  outsiders  can  only 
judge  generally,  and  China  is  true  to  type,  the  individual 
has  never  counted  there  and  he  does  not  count  yet.  What 
are  a  few  thousand  unpaid  soldiers  revolting  in  Kalgan  ? 
What   a  robber    desolating   Kansu  ?    A   score   or  two   of 


GATEWAY  TO  THE  TEMPLE  OF  HOT  SPRINGS. 
See  page   13'. 


MISSION   GARDEN  AT  HWAILU.  See  page  133. 


LAST  DAYS  IN  CHINA  145 

villagers  killed  because  they  could  not  pay  a  tax  ?  Ab- 
solutely nothing  in  the  general  crowd.  I,  being  a  woman, 
and  a  woman  from  the  new  nations  of  the  south,  cannot  help 
feeUng,  and  feeling  strongly,  the  individual  ought  to  count, 
that  no  nation  can  be  really  prosperous  until  the  individual 
with  but  few  exceptions  is  well-to-do  and  happy.  I  should 
hke  to  rule  out  the  "  few  exceptions,"  but  that  would  be 
asking  too  much  of  this  present  world.  At  least  I  like  to 
think  that  most  people  have  a  chance  of  happiness,  but  I 
feel  in  China  that  not  a  tenth  of  the  population  has  that. 

China  left  a  curious  impression  upon  my  mind.  The 
people  are  courteous  and  kindly,  far  more  courteous  than 
would  be  the  same  class  of  people  in  England,  and  yet  I 
came  back  from  the  interior  with  a  strong  feeling  that  it  is 
unsafe,  not  because  of  the  general  hostility  of  the  people — 
they  are  not  hostile — but  because  suffering  and  life  count  for 
so  little.    They  themselves  suffer  and  die  by  the  thousand. 

"  WTiat !  Bring  a  daughter-in-law  to  see  the  doctor  in 
the  middle  of  the  harvest !  Impossible  !  "  And  yet  they 
knew  she  was  suffering  agony,  that  seeing  the  doctor  was  her 
only  chance  of  sight !  But  she  did  not  get  it.  They  were 
harvesting  and  no  one  could  be  spared  ! 

What  is  the  life  then  of  a  foreign  barbarian  more  or  less  ? 
These  courteous,  kindly,  dirty  folk  who  look  upon  one  as  a 
menagerie  would  look  on  with  equal  interest  at  one's  death. 
They  might  stretch  out  a  hand  to  help,  just  as  a  man  in 
England  might  stop  another  from  ill-treating  a  horse,  though 
for  one  who  would  put  himself  out  two  would  pass  by  with 
a  shrug  of  the  shoulders  and  a  feeling  that  it  was  no  business 
of  theirs.  Every  day  of  their  lives  the  majority  look  upon 
the  suffering  of  their  women  and  think  nothing  of  it.  The 
desire  of  the  average  man  is  to  have  a  wife  who  has  so 
suffered.    I  do  not  know  whether  the  keeping  of  the  women 


146  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

in  a  state  of  subserviency  has  reacted  upon  the  nation  at 
large,  but  I  should  think  it  has  hampered  it  beyond  words. 
Nothing — nothing  made  me  so  ardent  a  believer  in  the  rights 
of  women  as  my  visit  to  Cliina. 

"  Women  in  England,"  said  a  man  to  me  the  other  day, 
a  foreigner,  one  of  our  Allies,  "  deserve  the  vote,  but  the 
Continental  women  are  babies.  They  cannot  have  it."  So 
are  the  Cliinese  women  babies,  very  helpless  babies  indeed, 
and  I  feel,  and  feel  very  strongly  indeed,  that  until  China 
educates  her  women,  makes  them  an  efficient  half  of  the 
nation,  not  merely  man's  toy  and  his  slave,  China  will  always 
lag  behind  in  the  world's  progress. 

Abeady  China  is  split  up  into  "  spheres  of  influence." 
Whether  she  likes  it  or  not,  she  must  realise  that  Russian 
misrule  is  paramount  in  the  great  steppes  of  the  north  ; 
Japan  rules  to  a  great  extent  in  the  north-east,  her  railway 
from  Mukden  to  Chang  Ch'un  is  a  model  of  efficiency; 
Britain  counts  her  influence  as  the  most  important  along 
the  valley  of  the  Yang  Tze  Kiang,  and  France  has  some  say 
in  Yunnan.  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  it  would  be  a  great 
day  for  China,  for  the  welfare  of  her  toiling  millions,  millions 
toiling  without  hope,  if  she  were  partitioned  up  among  the 
stable  nations  of  the  earth — that  is  to  say,  between  Japan, 
Britain  and  France.  And  having  said  so  much,  I  refer  my 
readers  to  Mr  Farrer  for  the  other  point  of  view.  It  is 
diametrically  opposed  to  mine. 


CHAPTER  IX 

KHARBIN  AND   VLADIVOSTOK 

At  Tientsin  I  sweltered  in  the  Astor  House,  and  I  put  it  on 
record  that  I  found  it  hotter  in  Northern  China  than  I  did 
on  the  Guinea  coast  in  West  Africa.  It  was  probably,  of 
course,  the  conditions  under  which  I  lived,  for  the  hotel 
had  been  so  well  arranged  for  the  bitter  winter  it  was  im- 
possible to  get  a  thorough  draught  of  air  through  any  of  the 
rooms.  James  Buchanan  did  not  like  it  either,  for  in  the 
British  concessions  in  China  dogs  come  under  suspicion  of 
hydrophobia  and  have  always  to  be  on  the  leash,  wherefore,  of 
course,  I  had  to  take  the  poor  little  chap  out  into  the  Chinese 
quarter  before  he  could  have  a  proper  run,  and  he  spent  a 
great  deal  more  time  shut  up  in  my  bedroom  than  he  or  I  liked. 
But  Tientsin  was  a  place  apart,  not  exactly  Chinese  as  I 
know  China — certainly  not  Europe ;  it  remains  in  my  mind 
as  a  place  where  Chinese  art  learns  to  accommodate  itself  to 
European  needs.  All  the  nations  of  the  world  East  and 
West  meet  there  :  in  the  British  quarter  were  the  Sikhs 
and  other  Indian  nationaUties,  and  in  the  French  the  streets 
were  kept  by  Anamites  in  quaint  peaked  straw  hats.  I 
loved  those  streets  of  Tientsin  that  made  me  feel  so  safe  and 
yet  gave  me  a  delightful  feeling  of  adventure — adventure 
that  cost  me  nothing ;  and  I  always  knew  I  could  go  and 
dine  with  a  friend  or  come  back  and  exchange  ideas  with 
somebody  who  spoke  my  own  tongue.  But  Tientsin  wasn't 
any  good  to  me  as  a  traveller.  It  has  been  written  about 
for  the  last  sixty  years  or  more.    I  went  on. 

147 


148  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

One  night  Buchanan  and  I,  without  a  servant — we  missed  the 
servant  we  always  had  in  China — wended  our  way  down  to  the 
railway  station  and  ensconced  ourselves  in  a  first-class  carriage 
bound  for  Mukden.  The  train  didn't  start  till  some  ungodly 
hour  of  the  night,  but  as  it  was  in  the  station  I  got  permission  to 
take  my  place  early,  and  with  rugs  and  cushions  made  myself 
comfortable  and  was  sound  asleep  long  before  we  started. 
When  I  wakened  I  was  well  on  the  way  to  my  destination. 

I  made  friends  with  a  British  officer  of  Marines  who,  with 
his  sister,  was  coming  back  across  Russia.  He  had  been 
learning  Japanese,  and  I  corrected  another  wrong  impres- 
sion. The  British  do  sometimes  learn  a  language  other  than 
their  own.  At  Mukden  we  dined  and  had  a  bath.  I  find 
henceforth  that  all  my  stopping-places  are  punctuated  by 
baths,  or  by  the  fact  that  a  bath  was  not  procurable.  A 
night  and  day  in  the  train  made  one  desirable  at  Mukden, 
and  a  hotel  inin  by  capable  Japanese  made  it  a  delight. 
The  Japanese,  as  far  as  I  could  see,  run  Manchuria  ;  must  be 
more  powerful  than  ever  now  Russia  is  out  of  it ;  Kharbin 
is  Russian,  Mukden  Japanese.  The  train  from  there  to 
Chang  Ch'un  is  Japanese,  and  we  all  travelled  in  a  large  open 
caiTiage,  clean  and,  considering  how  packed  it  was,  fairly 
airy.  There  was  room  for  everybody  to  lie  down,  just  room, 
and  the  efficient  Japanese  parted  me  from  my  treasured 
James  Buchanan  and  put  hun,  howling  miserably,  into  a 
big  box — rather  a  dirty  box ;  I  suppose  they  don't  think 
much  of  animals — in  another  compartment.  I  climbed  over 
much  luggage  and  crawled  under  a  good  deal  more  to  see 
that  all  was  right  with  him,  and  the  Japanese  guards  looked 
upon  me  as  a  mild  sort  of  lunatic  and  smiled  contemptuously. 
I  don't  like  being  looked  upon  with  contempt  by  Orientals, 
so  I  was  a  little  ruffled  when  I  came  back  to  my  own  seat. 
Then  I  was  amused. 


KHARBIN  AND  ^T^ADH^OSTOK        149 

Naturally  among  such  a  crowd  I  made  no  attempt  to 
imdress  for  the  night,  merely  contenting  myself  with  taking 
off  my  boots.  But  the  man  next  me,  a  Japanese  naval 
officer,  with  whom  I  conversed  in  French,  had  quite  different 
views.  My  French  was  rather  bad  and  so  was  his  in  a 
different  way,  so  we  did  not  get  on  very  fast.  I  fear  I  left 
him  with  the  impression  that  I  was  an  Austrian,  for  he  never 
seemed  to  have  heard  of  Australia.  However,  we  showed 
each  other  our  good  will.  Then  he  proceeded  to  undress. 
Never  have  I  seen  the  process  more  nattily  accomplished. 
How  he  slipped  out  of  blue  cloth  and  gold  lace  into  a  kimono 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know%  though  he  did  it  under  my  very  eyes, 
and  then,  with  praiseworthy  forethought,  he  took  the  links 
and  studs  out  of  his  shirt  and  put  them  into  a  clean  one 
ready  for  the  morrow,  stowed  them  both  away  in  his  little 
trunk,  settled  himself  do-wn  on  his  couch  and  gave  himself 
up  to  a  cigarette  and  conversation.  I  smoked  too — one 
of  his  cigarettes — and  we  both  went  to  sleep  amicably,  and 
with  the  morning  we  arrived  at  Chang  Ch'un,  and  poor 
little  Buchanan  made  the  welkin  ring  when  he  saw  me  and 
found  himself  caged  in  a  barred  box.  However  that  was 
soon  settled,  and  he  told  me  how  infinitely  preferable  from 
a  dog's  point  of  view  are  the  free  and  easy  trains  of  Russia 
and  China  to  the  well-managed  ones  of  Japan. 

These  towns  on  the  great  railway  are  weird  little  places, 
merely  scattered  houses  and  wide  roads  leading  out  into  the 
great  plain,  and  the  railway  comes  out  of  the  distance  and 
goes  away  into  the  distance.  And  the  people  who  inhabit 
them  seem  to  be  a  conglomeration  of  nations,  perhaps  the 
residuum  of  all  the  nations.  Here  the  marine  officer  and 
his  sister  and  I  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  strange-looking 
individual  who  might  have  been  a  cross  between  a  Russian 
Pole  and  a  Chinaman,  with  a  dash  of  Korean  thrown  in,  and 


150  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

he  undertook  to  take  us  to  a  better  hotel  than  that  usually 
frequented  by  visitors  to  Chang  Ch'un.  I  confess  I  wonder 
what  sort  of  people  do  visit  Chang  Ch'un,  not  the  British 
tourist  as  a  rule,  and  if  the  principal  hotel  is  worse  than  the 
ramshackle  place  where  we  had  breakfast,  it  must  be  bad. 
Still  it  was  pleasant  in  the  brilliant  warm  sunshine,  even 
though  it  was  lucky  we  had  bathed  the  night  before  at 
Mukden,  for  the  best  they  could  do  here  was  to  show  us  into 
the  most  primitive  of  bedrooms,  the  very  first  effort  in  the 
way  of  a  bedroom,  I  should  think,  after  people  had  given 
up  k^angs,  and  there  I  met  a  very  small  portion  of  water  in 
a  very  small  basin  alongside  an  exceedingly  frowsy  bed  and 
made  an  effort  to  wash  away  the  stains  of  a  night's  travel. 
Now  such  a  begimiing  to  the  day  would  effectually  disgust  me ; 
then,  fresh  from  the  discomforts  of  Chinese  travel,  I  foimd 
it  all  in  the  day's  work. 

I  found  too  that  I  had  made  a  mistake  and  not  brought 
enough  money  with  me.  Before  I  had  paid  for  Buchanan's 
ticket  I  had  parted  with  every  penny  I  possessed  and  could 
not  possibly  get  any  more  till  I  arrived  at  the  Hong  Kong 
and  Shanghai  Bank  at  Kharbin.  I  am  rather  given  to  a 
mistake  of  that  sort ;  I  always  feel  my  money  is  so  much 
safer  in  the  bank's  charge  than  in  mine. 

We  went  on  through  fertile  Manchuria  and  I  saw  the  rich 
fields  that  coming  out  I  had  passed  over  at  night.  This 
train  was  Russian,  and  presently  there  came  along  a  soldier, 
a  forerunner  of  an  officer  inspecting  passengers  and  carriages. 
Promptly  his  eye  fell  on  Buchanan,  who  was  taking  an  in- 
telligent interest  in  the  scenery — he  always  insisted  on  looking 
out  of  the  window — and  I,  seeing  he,  the  soldier,  was  troubled, 
tried  to  tell  him  my  intentions  were  good  and  I  would  pay  at 
Kharbin ;  but  I  don't  think  I  made  myself  understood,  for 
he  looked  wildly  roimd  the  compartment,  seized  the  little 


KHARBIN  AND  VLADIVOSTOK         151 

dog,  pushed  him  in  a  corner  and  threw  a  cushion  over  him. 
Both  Buchanan  and  I  were  so  surprised  we  kept  quite  still, 
and  the  Russian  officer  looked  in,  saw  a  solitary  woman 
holding  out  her  ticket  and  passed  on,  and  not  till  he  was  well 
out  of  the  way  did  James  Buchanan,  who  was  a  jewel,  poke 
up  his  pretty  little  head  and  make  a  few  remarks  upon  the 
enormity  of  smuggling  little  dogs  without  paying  their  fares, 
which  was  evidently  what  I  was  doing. 

We  arrived  at  Kharbin  about  nine  o'clock  at  night,  and 
as  I  stepped  out  on  to  a  platform,  where  all  the  nations  of 
the  earth,  in  dirty  clothes,  seemed  yelling  in  chorus,  a  man 
came  along  and  spoke  to  me  in  English.  The  soldier  who  had 
aided  and  abetted  in  the  smuggling  of  Buchanan  was  stand- 
ing beside  me,  evidently  expecting  some  little  remembrance, 
and  I  was  meditating  borrowing  from  the  officer  of  Marines, 
though,  as  they  were  going  on  and  I  was  not,  I  did  not  much 
like  it.  And  the  voice  in  English  asked  did  I  want  a  hotel. 
I  did,  of  course.  The  man  said  he  was  the  courier  of  the 
Grand  Hotel,  but  he  had  a  little  place  of  his  o%vn  which  was 
much  better  and  he  could  make  me  very  comfortable.  Then 
I  explained  I  could  not  get  any  money  till  the  bank  opened 
next  day  and  he  spread  out  his  hands  as  a  Chinaman  might 
have  done.  "  No  matter,  no  matter,"  he  would  pay,  his 
purse  was  mine. 

Would  I  go  to  his  house  ? 

Could  I  do  anything  else  under  the  circumstances  ?  And 
I  promptly  took  him  at  his  word  and  asked  for  a  rouble — 
Kharbin  is  China,  but  the  rouble  was  the  current  coin — 
and  paid  off  the  soldier  for  his  services.  I  bade  farewell  to 
my  friends  and  in  a  ramshackle  droshky  went  away  through 
the  streets  of  Kharbin,  and  we  drove  so  far  I  wondered  if  I 
had  done  wisely.     I  had,  as  it  turned  out. 

But  I  heard  afterwards  that  even  in  those  days  anything 


152  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

might  have  happened  in  Kharbin,  where  the  population  con- 
sists of  Japanese  and  Chinese  and  Russians  and  an  evil 
combination  of  all  three,  to  say  nothing  of  a  sprinkling  of 
rascals  from  all  the  nations  of  the  earth. 

"  There  is  not,"  said  a  man  who  knew  it  well,  "  a  decent 
Chinaman  in  the  whole  place." 

In  fact  to  all  intents  and  purposes  it  is  Russian.  There 
were  Russian  students  all  in  uniform  in  the  streets,  and 
bearded,  belted  drivers  drove  the  droshkies  with  their  extra 
horse  in  a  trace  beside  the  shafts,  just  as  they  did  in  Russia. 
Anyhow  it  seems  to  me  the  sins  of  K3iarbin  would  be  the 
vigorous  primal  sins  of  Russia,  not  the  decadent  sins  of  old- 
world  China. 

Kharbin  when  I  was  there  in  1914  had  60,000  inhabitants 
and  25,000  Russian  soldiers  guarding  the  railway  in  the 
district.  The  Russian  police  forbade  me  to  take  photographs, 
and  you  might  take  your  choice :  Chinese  hung  hu  tzes  or 
Russian  brigands  would  rob  and  slay  you  on  your  very 
doorstep  in  the  heart  of  the  town.  At  least  they  would  in 
1914,  and  things  are  probably  worse  now.  All  the  signs  are 
in  Russian  and,  after  the  Chinese,  looked  to  me  at  first  as 
if  I  should  be  able  to  understand  them,  but  closer  inspection 
convinced  me  that  the  letters,  though  I  knew  their  shape, 
had  been  out  all  night  and  were  coming  home  in  not  quite 
the  condition  we  would  wish  them  to  be.  Tliere  is  a  Chinese 
town  without  a  wall  a  little  way  over  the  plain — ^like  all 
other  Chinese  towns,  a  place  of  dirt  and  smells — and  there  is 
a  great  river,  the  Sungari,  a  tributary  of  the  Amur,  on  which 
I  first  met  the  magnificent  river  steamers  of  these  parts. 
Badly  I  wanted  to  photograph  them,  but  the  Russian  police 
said  "  No,  no,"  I  would  have  to  get  a  permit  from  the 
colonel  in  command  before  that  could  be  allowed,  and  the 
colonel  in  command  was  away  and  was  not  expected  back 


I 


KHARBIN  AND  VLADWOSTOK        153 

till  the  middle  of  next  week,  by  which  time  I  expected  to  be 
in  Vladivostok,  if  not  in  Kharbarosvk,  for  Kharbin  was 
hardly  inviting  as  a  place  of  sojourn  for  a  traveller.  Mr 
Poland,  as  he  called  himself,  did  his  best  for  me.  He  gave 
me  a  fairly  large  room  with  a  bed  in  it,  a  chair,  a  table  and  a 
broken-down  wardrobe  that  would  not  open.  He  had  the 
family  washing  cleared  out  of  the  bath,  so  that  I  bathed 
amidst  the  fluttering  damp  garments  of  his  numerous 
progeny,  but  still  there  was  a  bath  and  a  bath  heater  that 
with  a  certain  expenditure  of  wood  could  be  made  to  produce 
hot  water ;  and  if  it  was  rather  a  terrifying  machine  to  be 
locked  up  with  at  close  quarters,  still  it  did  aid  me  to  arrive 
at  a  certain  degree  of  cleanliness,  and  I  had  been  long  enough 
in  China  not  to  be  carping. 

But  it  is  dull  eating  in  your  bedroom,  and  I  knew  I  had 
not  done  wisely,  for  even  if  the  principal  hotel  had  been 
uncomfortable — I  am  not  saying  it  was,  because  I  never  went 
there — it  would  have  been  more  amusing  to  watch  other  folks 
than  to  be  alone. 

The  day  after  I  arrived  I  called  upon  Mr  Sly,  the  British 
consul,  and  I  was  amused  to  hear  the  very  dubious  sounds 
that  came  from  his  room  when  I  was  amiounced. 

I  cleared  the  air  by  saying  hastily :  "I'm  not  a  distressed 
British  subject  and  I  don't  want  any  money,"  though  I'm 
bound  to  say  he  looked  kind  enough  to  provide  me  with  the 
wherewithal  had  I  wanted  it.  Then  he  shook  his  head  and 
expressed  his  disapproval  of  my  method  of  arrival. 

"  The  last  man  who  fell  into  Kharbin  like  that,"  said  he, 
"  I  hunted  for  a  week,  and  two  days  later  I  attended  his 
funeral,"  so  badly  had  be  been  man-handled.  But  that  man, 
it  seems,  had  plenty  of  money ;  it  was  wisdom  he  lacked. 
My  trouble  was  the  other  way,  certainly  as  far  as  money 
was  concerned.    It  would  never  have  been  worth  anyone's 


154  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

while  to  harm  me  for  the  sake  of  my  possessions.  I  had 
fallen  into  the  hands  of  a  Polish  Jew  named  Polonetzky, 
though  he  called  himself  Poland  to  me,  feeling,  I  suppose, 
my  English  tongue  was  not  equal  to  the  more  complicated 
word,  and  he  dwelt  in  the  Dome  Stratkorskaya — remember 
KSiarbin  is  China — and  I  promised  if  he  dtalt  well  by  me 
that  I  would  recommend  his  boarding-house  to  all  my  friends 
bound  for  Kharbin.  He  did  deal  well  by  me.  So  frightened 
was  he  about  me  that  he  would  not  let  me  out  of  his  sight, 
or  if  he  were  not  in  attendance  his  wife  or  his  brother  was 
turned  on  to  look  after  me. 

"  I  am  very  good  friends,"  said  he,  "  with  Mr  Sly  at  present. 
I  do  not  want  anything  to  happen." 

Mr  Sly,  we  found,  knew  one  of  my  brothers  and  he  very 
kindly  asked  me  to  dinner.  That  introduced  me  to  the  6\ite 
of  the  place,  and  after  dinner — Chinese  cooks  are  still  excellent 
on  the  borders — we  drove  in  his  private  carriage  and  ended 
the  evening  in  the  public  gardens.  The  coachmen  here  are 
quite  gorgeous  affairs ;  no  matter  what  their  nondescript 
nationality — ^they  are  generally  Russians,  I  think,  though 
I  have  seen  Chinamen,  Tartars,  driving  like  Jehu  the  son 
of  Nimshi — ^they  wear  for  full  livery  grey  beaver  hats  with 
curly  brims  like  Johnny  Walker  or  the  Corinthians  in  the 
day^  of  the  Regent.  It  took  my  breath  away  when  I  found 
myself  bowling  along  behind  two  of  these  curly  brimmed 
hats  that  I  thought  had  passed  away  in  the  days  of  my 
grandfather. 

The  gardens  at  Kharbin  are  a  great  institution.  There  in 
the  summer's  evening  the  paths  were  all  lined  with  lamps ; 
there  were  open-air  restaurants ;  there  were  bands  and 
fluttering  flags ;  there  were  the  most  excellent  ices  and  in- 
sidious drinks  of  all  descriptions,  and  there  were  crowds  of 
gaily  dressed  [people — Monte  Carlo  in  the  heart  of  Central 


KHARBIN  AND  \TLADIVOSTOK         155 

Asia  !  Kharbin  in  the  summer  is  hot,  very  hot,  and  Kharbin 
in  the  winter  is  bitter  cold.  It  is  all  ice  and  snow  and  has  a 
temperature  that  ranges  somewhere  do^vn  to  40°  Fahrenheit 
below  zero,  and  this  though  the  sun  shines  brilliantly.  It 
is  insidious  cold  that  sneaks  on  you  and  takes  you  unawares, 
not  like  the  bleak  raw  cold  of  England  that  makes  the  very 
most  of  itself.  They  told  me  a  tale  of  a  girl  who  had  gone 
skating  and  when  she  came  off  the  ice  found  that  her  feet 
were  frozen,  though  she  was  unaware  of  her  danger  and  had 
thought  them  all  right.  Dogs  are  often  frozen  in  the  streets 
and  Chinamen  too,  for  the  Chinaman  has  a  way  of  going  to 
sleep  in  odd  places,  and  many  a  one  has  slept  his  last  sleep 
in  the  winter  streets  of  Kliarbin — the  wide  straggling  streets 
with  houses  and  gardens  and  vacant  spaces  just  like  the 
towns  of  Australia.  A  frontier  town  it  is  in  effect.  We 
have  got  beyond  the  teeming  population  of  China. 

And  then  I  prepared  to  go  first  east  to  Vladivostok  and 
then  north  to  Siberia,  and  I  asked  advice  of  both  the  British 
consul  and  my  self-appointed  courier,  Mr  Poland. 

Certainly  he  took  care  of  me,  and  the  day  before  I  started 
east  he  handed  me  over  to  his  wife  and  suggested  she  should 
take  me  to  the  market  and  buy  necessaries  for  my  journey. 
It  was  only  a  little  over  twenty-four  hours  so  it  did  not  seem 
to  me  a  matter  of  much  consequence,  but  I  felt  it  would  be 
interesting  to  walk  through  the  market.     It  was. 

This  class  of  market,  I  find,  is  very  much  alike  all  over 
the  world  because  they  sell  the  necessaries  of  life  to  the  people 
and  it  is  only  varied  by  the  difference  of  the  local  products. 
Kharbin  market  was  a  series  of  great  sheds,  and  though  most 
of  the  stalls  were  kept  by  Chinamen,  it  differed  from  a  market 
in  a  Chinese  town  in  the  fact  that  huge  quantities  of  butter 
and  cheese  and  cream  were  for  sale.  Your  true  Chinaman 
is  shocked  at  the  European  taste  for  milk  and  butter  and 


156  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

cream.  He  thinks  it  loathsome,  and  many  a  man  is  unable 
to  sit  at  table  and  watch  people  eat  these  delicacies.  Just 
as,  of  course,  he  is  shocked  at  the  taste  that  would  put 
before  a  diner  a  huge  joint  of  beef  or  mutton.  These  things 
Chinese  refinement  disguises.  I  suspect  the  proletariat 
with  whom  I  came  in  contact  in  Shansi  would  gladly  eat 
anything,  but  I  speak  of  the  refined  Chinaman.  Here  in 
this  market,  whether  he  was  refined  or  not,  he  had  got  over 
these  fancies  and  there  was  much  butter  and  delicious  soured 
cream  for  sale.  My  Polish  Jewess  and  I  laboured  under  the 
usual  difficulty  of  language,  but  she  made  me  understand  I 
had  better  buy  a  basket  for  my  provisions,  a  plate,  a  knife,  a 
fork — I  had  left  these  things  behind  in  China,  not  thinking 
I  should  want  them — a  tumbler  and  a  couple  of  kettles. 
No  self-respecting  person,  according  to  her,  would  dream  of 
travelling  in  Siberia  without  at  least  a  couple  of  kettles. 
I  laid  in  two  of  blue  enamel  ware  and  I  am  bound  to  say  I 
blessed  her  forethought  many  and  many  a  time. 

Then  we  proceeded  to  buy  provisions,  and  here  I  lost  my 
way.  She  engaged  a  stray  Chinaman,  at  least  I  think  he 
was  a  Chinaman,  with  a  dash  of  the  gorilla  in  him,  to  carry 
the  goods,  and  I  thought  she  was  provisioning  her  family 
against  a  siege  or  that  perhaps  there  was  only  one  market 
a  month  in  Kharbin.  Anyhow  I  did  not  feel  called  upon  to 
interfere.  It  didn't  seem  any  concern  of  mine  and  she  had 
a  large  little  family.  We  bought  bread  in  large  quantities, 
ten  cucumbers,  two  pounds  of  butter,  two  pounds  of  cream — 
for  these  we  bought  earthenware  jars — two  dozen  bananas, 
ten  eggs  and  two  pounds  of  tea.  And  then  I  discovered 
these  were  the  provisions  for  my  journey  to  Vladivostok, 
twenty-seven  hours  away !  I  never  quite  knew  why  I  bought 
provisions  at  all,  for  the  train  stopped  at  stations  where 
there  were  restaurants  even  though  there  was  no  restaurant 


KHARBIN  AND  VLADIVOSTOK         157 

car  attached  to  it.  Mr  Sly  warned  me  to  travel  first  class 
and  I  had  had  no  thought  of  doing  aught  else,  for  travelling 
is  very  cheap  and  very  good  in  Russia,  but  Mr  Poland  thought 
differently. 

"  I  arrange,"  said  he,  "  I  arrange,  and  you  see  if  you  are 
not  comfortable." 

I  am  bound  to  say  I  was,  very  comfortable,  for  Buchanan 
and  I  had  a  very  nice  second-class  carriage  all  to  ourselves. 
At  everj''  station  a  conductor  appeared  to  know  if  I  wanted 
boiling  water,  and  we  had  any  amount  of  good  things  to  eat, 
for  the  ten  eggs  had  been  hard  boiled  by  Mrs  "  Poland," 
and  the  bread  and  butter  and  cream  and  cucumbers  and 
bananas  were  as  good  as  ever  I  have  tasted.  I  also  had 
two  pounds  of  loaf  sugar,  German  beet,  I  think,  and  some 
lemons. 

And  so  we  went  east  tlirough  the  wooded  hills  of  Man- 
churia. They  were  covered  with  lush  grass  restfully  green, 
and  there  were  flowers,  purple  and  white  and  yellow  and 
red,  lifting  their  starry  faces  to  the  cloudy  sky,  and  a  soft 
damp  air  blew  in  thiough  the  open  window.  Such  a  change 
it  was  after  China,  with  its  hard  blue  skies,  brilliant  sunshine 
and  dry,  invigorating  air.  But  the  ISIanchus  were  industrious 
as  the  Chinese  themselves,  and  where  there  were  fields  the 
crops  Avere  tended  as  carefully  as  those  in  China  proper,  only 
in  between  were  the  pasture-lands  and  the  flowers  that  were 
a  delight  to  me,  who  had  not  seen  a  flower  save  those  in 
pots  since  I  came  to  China. 

I  spread  out  my  rugs  and  cushions  and,  taking  off  my 
clothes  and  getting  into  a  kimono — also  bought  in  the 
Kharbin  market ;  a  man's  kimono  as  the  women's  are  too 
narrow — I  slept  peacefully,  and  in  the  morning  I  found  we 
had  climbed  to  the  top  of  the  ridge,  the  watershed,  the 
pleasant  rain  was  falling  softly,  all  around  was  the  riotous 


158  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

green,  and  peasants,  Russian  and  Chinese,  came  selling  sweet 
red  raspberries  in  little  baskets  of  green  twigs. 

And  the  flowers,  the  flowers  of  Siberia  !  After  all  I  had 
heard  about  them,  they  were  still  something  more  beautiful 
than  I  could  have  hoped  for ;  and  then  the  rain  passed,  the 
life-giving  rain,  the  rain  that  smoothed  away  all  harshness 
and  gave  such  a  charm  and  a  softness  to  the  scenery.  And 
it  was  vast.  China  was  so  crowded  I  never  had  a  sense  of 
vastness  there ;  but  this  was  like  Australia,  great  stretches 
of  land  under  the  sky,  green,  rich  lush  green,  and  away  in 
the  distance  was  a  dim  line  of  blue  hills.  Then  would  come 
a  little  corrugated-iron-roofed  town  sprawled  out  over  the 
mighty  plain,  a  pathway  to  it  across  the  surrounding  green, 
and  then  the  sun  came  out  and  the  clouds  threw  great 
shadows  and  there  was  room  to  see  the  outline  of  their 
shapes  on  the  green  grass. 

There  were  Chinese  still  on  the  stations,  but  they  were 
becoming  more  and  more  Russianised.  They  still  wore 
queues,  but  they  had  belted  Russian  blouses  and  top-boots, 
and  they  mixed  on  friendly  terms  with  flaxen-haired,  blue- 
eyed  Russians  similarly  attired.  And  the  evening  shadows 
gathered  again  and  in  the  new  world  we  steamed  into 
Vladivostok. 

The  Russians  I  came  across  did  not  appreciate  fresh  air. 
The  porter  of  a  hotel  captured  me  and  Buchanan,  and  when 
we  arrived  on  a  hot  July  night  I  was  shown  into  a  bedroom 
with  double  windows  hermetically  sealed  and  the  cracks 
stopped  up  with  cotton  wool ! 

I  protested  vehemently  and  the  hotel  porter  looked  at  me 
in  astonishment.  Tear  down  those  carefully  stopped-up 
cracks  !  Perish  the  thought.  However,  I  persuaded  him 
down  that  cotton  wool  must  come,  and  he  pulled  it  down 
regretfully.    I  called  at  the  British  consulate  next  day  and 


KHARBIN  AND  VLADIVOSTOK        159 

asked  them  to  recommend  me  to  the  best  hotel,  but  they 
told  me  I  was  already  there  and  could  not  better  myself, 
so  I  gave  myself  up  to  exploring  the  town  in  the  Far  East 
where  now  the  Czech  Slovaks  have  established  themselves. 

It  is  a  beautifully  situated  town  set  in  the  hills  alongside 
a  narrow  arm  of  the  sea,  rather  a  grey  sea  with  a  grey  sky 
overhead,  and  the  hills  around  were  covered  with  the 
luxuriant  green  of  midsummer,  midsummer  in  a  land  where 
it  is  winter  almost  to  June.  The  principal  buildings  in 
Vladivostok  are  rather  fine,  but  they  are  all  along  the  shore, 
and  once  you  go  back  you  come  into  the  hills  where  the 
wood-paved  streets  very  often  are  mere  flights  of  steps. 
It  is  because  of  that  sheltered  arm  of  the  sea  that  here  is 
a  town  at  all. 

Along  the  shore  are  all  manner  of  craft.  The  British 
fleet  had  come  on  a  visit,  and  grey  and  grim  the  ships  lay 
there  on  the  grey  sea,  like  a  Turner  picture,  ■with,  for  a  dash 
of  colour,  the  Union  Jacks.  The  Russian  fleet  was  there 
too,  welcoming  their  guests,  and  I  took  a  boat  manned 
by  a  native  of  the  coimtry,  Mongolian  evidently,  with, 
of  course,  an  unknown  tongue,  but  whether  he  was  (Jold 
or  Gilyak  I  know  not.  He  was  a  good  boatman,  for 
a  nasty  little  sea  got  up  and  James  Buchanan  told  me 
several  times  he  did  not  like  the  new  tiu'n  our  voyaging  had 
taken,  and  then,  poor  little  dog,  he  was  violently  sick.  I 
know  the  torments  of  sea-sickness  are  not  lightly  to  be  borne, 
so  after  sailing  round  the  fleets  I  went  ashore  and  studied 
the  shipping  from  the  firm  land. 

I  was  glad  then  that  Mr  Sly  at  Kharbin  had  insisted  that 
I  should  see  the  Russian  port.  The  whole  picture  was  framed 
in  green,  soft  tender  green,  edged  with  grey  mist,  and  all  the 
old  forgotten  ships  of  wood,  the  ships  that  perhaps  were 
sailed  by  my  grandfather  in  the  old  East  India  Company, 


160  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

seemed  to  have  found  a  resting-place  here.  They  were 
drawn  up  against  the  shore  or  they  were  going  down  the 
bay  with  all  their  sails  set,  and  the  sunlight  breaking  through 
the  clouds  touched  the  white  sails  and  made  them  moimtains 
of  snow.  There  was  shipbuilding  going  on  too,  naturally — 
for  are  there  not  great  stores  of  timber  in  the  forests  behind? — 
and  there  were  ships  unloading  all  manner  of  things.  Ships 
brought  vegetables  and  fruit ;  ships  brought  meat ;  there  were 
fishing-boats,  himdreds  of  them  close  against  each  other 
along  the  shore,  and  on  aU  the  small  ships,  at  the  mast-heads, 
were  little  fluttering  white  butterflies  of  flags.  What  they 
were  there  for  I  do  not  know,  or  what  they  denoted.  Oh, 
the  general  who  commands  the  Czech  Slovaks  has  a  splendid 
base.  I  wish  him  aU  success.  And  here  were  the  sealing- 
ships,  the  ships  that  presently  would  go  up  to  the  rookeries 
to  bring  away  the  pelts. 

One  of  my  brothers  was  once  navigating  lieutenant  on  the 
British  ship  that  guarded  the  rookeries  "  north  of  53°,"  and 
I  remembered,  as  Buchanan  and  I  walked  along  the  shore, 
the  tales  he  had  told  me  of  life  in  these  parts.  His  particular 
ship  had  acquired  two  sheep,  rather  an  acquisition  for  men 
who  had  lived  long  off  the  Chinese  coast,  and  had  a  surfeit 
of  chickens  ;  so  while  they  were  eating  one,  thinking  to  save 
the  other  a  long  sea  voyage  they  landed  him  on  an  island, 
giving  him  in  charge  of  the  man,  an  Aleut  Indian,  my  brother 
called  him,  who  ruled  the  little  place.  Coming  back  they 
were  reduced  to  salt  and  tinned  food,  but  they  cheered 
themselves  with  thoughts  of  the  mutton  chops  that  should 
regale  them  when  they  met  again  their  sheep.  Alas  for 
those  sailor-men !  They  found  the  Indian,  but  the  sheep  was 
not  forthcoming. 

His  whilom  guardian  was  most  polite.  He  gave  them  to 
understand   he  was  deeply  grieved,  but  unfortunately  he 


KHARBIN  AND  VLADIVOSTOK         161 

had  been  obliged  to  slay  the  sheep  as  he  was  killmg  the 
fowls ! 

The  ward-room  mess  realised  all  too  late  that  mutton 
was  appreciated  in  other  places  than  on  board  his  Majesty's 
ships. 

I  thought  all  the  races  of  the  earth  met  in  IQiarbin,  but  I 
don't  know  that  this  port  does  not  i^un  it  very  close.  There 
were  Japanese,  Chinese,  Russians,  Koreans  in  horsehair 
hats  and  white  garments ;  there  were  the  aboriginal  natives 
of  the  country  and  there  were  numberless  Germans.  And 
then,  in  July,  1914,  these  people,  I  think,  had  no  thought  of 
the  World's  War. 

And  here  I  came  across  a  new  way  of  carrying,  for  all  the 
porters  had  chairs  strapped  upon  their  backs  and  the  load, 
whatever  it  was,  was  placed  upon  the  chair.  Of  all  ways 
I  have  seen,  that  way  strikes  me  as  being  the  best,  for  the 
weight  is  most  evenly  distributed.  Most  of  the  porters,  I 
believe,  were  Koreans,  though  they  did  not  wear  white  ;  nor 
did  they  wear  a  hat  of  any  description ;  their  long  black  hair 
was  twisted  up  like  a  woman's,  but  they  were  vigorous  and 
stalwart.  We  left  weakness  behind  us  in  China.  Here 
the  people  looked  as  if  they  were  meat-fed,  and  though  they 
might  be  dirty — ^they  generally  were — ^they  all  looked  as  if 
they  had  enough. 

Always  the  principal  streets  were  thronged  with  people. 
At  night  the  town  all  lighted  up  is  like  a  crescent  of  sparkling 
diamonds  flung  against  the  hill-sides,  and  when  I  went  to 
the  railway  station  to  take  train  for  Kharbarosvk,  thirty 
hoiu'S  away,  at  the  junction  of  the  Ussuri  and  the  Amur, 
that  large  and  spacious  building  was  a  seething  mass  of 
people  of  apparently  all  classes  and  all  nationalities,  and  they 
were  giving  voice  to  their  feelings  at  the  top  of  their  lungs. 
Everybody,  I  should  think,  had  a  grievance  and  was  makin 


162  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

the  most  of  it.  I  had  not  my  capable  Mr  Poland  to  arrange 
for  me,  so  I  went  first  class — ^the  exact  fare  I  have  forgotten, 
but  it  was  ridiculously  low — and  Buchanan  and  I  had  a 
compartment  all  to  ourselves.  Indeed  I  believe  we  were  the 
only  first-class  passengers.  I  had  my  basket  and  my  kettles 
and  I  had  laid  in  store  of  provisions,  and  we  went  away  back 
west  for  a  couple  of  hours,  and  then  north  into  the  spacious 
green  country  where  there  was  room  and  more  than  room 
for  everybody. 


CHAPTER  X 

ONE   OF  THE   WORLd's  GREAT   RIVERS 

All  the  afternoon  we  went  back  on  our  tracks  along  the 
main  Hne,  the  sea  on  one  side  and  the  green  country,  riotous, 
lush,  luxuriant,  on  the  other,  till  at  last  we  reached  the  head 
of  the  gulf  and  took  our  last  look  at  the  Northern  Sea ;  grey 
like  a  silver  shield  it  spread  before  us,  and  right  down  to  the 
very  water's  edge  came  the  vivid  green.  And  then  we  turned 
inland,  and  presently  we  left  the  main  line  and  went  north. 
Above  was  the  grey  sky,  and  the  air  was  soft  and  cool  and 
delicious.  I  had  had  too  much  stimulation  and  I  welcomed, 
as  I  had  done  the  rains  after  the  summer  in  my  youth,  the 
soft  freshness  of  the  Siberian  summer. 

There  were  soldiers  everywhere,  tall,  strapping,  virile 
Russians  ;  there  were  peasants  in  belted  blouses,  with  collars 
all  of  needlework;  and  there  were  Chinese,  Japanese,  Koreans, 
and  the  natives  of  the  country,  men  with  a  strong  Mongolian 
cast  of  countenance.  The  country  itself  was  strangely 
empty  after  teeming  Cliina,  but  these  all  travelled  by  train 
or  were  to  be  found  on  the  railway  stations  and  at  the 
fisliing  stations  that  we  passed,  but  apparently  I  was  the 
only  bloated  aristocrat  who  travelled  first  class.  In  normal 
times  this  made  travelling  fairly  easy  in  Russia,  for  it  was 
very  cheap  and  you  could  generally  get  a  carriage  to  yourself. 

Oh  1  but  it  was  lovely ;  the  greenness  of  the  country  was 

a  rest  to  eyes  wearied  ^^•ith  the  dust  and  dirt  of  China. 

And  there  were  trees — not  trees  denuded  of  all  but  enough 

timber  to  make  a  bare  livelihood  possible,  but  trees  gi'owing 

163 


164  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

luxuriantly  in  abundant  leaf  after  their  own  free  will,  oaks 
and  firs  and  white-stemmed,  graceful  birches  bending  daintily 
before  the  soft  breeze.  At  the  stations  the  natives,  exactly 
like  Chinamen,  dirty  and  in  rags,  brought  strawberries  for 
sale ;  and  there  were  always  flowers — ^pm-ple  vetches  and 
gorgeous  red  poppies,  tall  foxgloves  and  blue  spikes  of  lark- 
spur. The  very  antithesis  of  China  it  was,  for  this  was 
waste  land  and  undeveloped.  The  veiy  engines  were  iiin 
with  wood,  and  there  were  stacks  of  wood  by  the  wayside 
waiting  to  be  burnt.  I  was  sorry — I  could  not  but  be  sorry. 
I  have  seen  my  own  people  cut  down  the  great  forests  of 
Western  Victoria,  and  here  were  people  doing  the  same,  with 
exactly  the  same  wanton  extravagance,  and  in  this  country, 
with  its  seven  months  of  bitter  winter,  in  all  probability  the 
trees  take  three  times  as  long  to  come  to  maturity.  But  it 
is  virgin  land,  this  glorious  fertile  country,  and  was  practic- 
ally uninhabited  till  the  Russian  Government  planted  here 
and  there  bands  of  Cossacks  who,  they  say,  made  no  en- 
deavour to  develop  the  land.  The  Koreans  and  the  Japanese 
and  the  Chinese  came  creeping  in,  but  the  Russians  made  an 
effort  to  keep  them  out.  But  still  the  population  is  scanty. 
Always,  though  it  was  before  the  war,  there  were  soldiers 
— soldiers  singly,  soldiers  in  pairs,  soldiers  in  little  bands ; 
a  horseman  appeared  on  a  lonely  road,  he  was  a  soldier ; 
a  man  came  along  driving  a  cart,  he  was  a  soldier ;  but 
the  people  we  saw  were  few,  for  the  rigours  of  this  lovely 
land  in  the  winter  are  terrible,  and  this  was  the  dreaded 
land  where  Russia  sent  her  exiles  a  long,  long  way  from 
home. 

Farther  we  went  into  the  hills ;  a  cuckoo  called  in  the  cool 
and  dewy  morning ;  there  were  lonely  little  cottages  with 
wooden  roofs  and  log  walls ;  there  were  flowering  creepers 
round  the  windows,  and  once  I  saw  a  woman's  wistful  face 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RIVERS   165 

peeping  out  at  the  passing  train,  the  new  train  that  at  last 
was  bringing  her  nearer  the  old  home  and  that  yet  seemed 
to  emphasise  the  distance.  We  went  along  by  a  river,  the 
Ussuri,  that  wound  its  way  among  the  wooded  green  hills 
and  by  still  pools  of  water  that  reflected  in  their  depths  the 
blue  sky,  soft  with  snow-white  clouds.  A  glorious  land 
this  land  of  exile  !  At  the  next  station  we  stopped  at 
the  people  were  seated  at  a  table  having  a  meal  under  the 
shade  of  the  trees.  Then  there  was  a  lonely  cross  of  new 
wood ;  someone  had  been  laid  in  his  long  last  home  in  the 
wilderness  and  would  never  go  back  to  Holy  Russia  again ; 
and  again  I  thought  of  the  woman's  wistful  face  that  peered 
out  of  the  flower-bordered  window. 

This  is  a  new  line.  Formerly  the  way  to  Kharbarosvk 
was  do^vn  the  Amur  river  from  the  west,  and  that,  I  suppose, 
is  why  all  this  country  of  the  Amur  Province  south  and  east 
of  the  river  is  so  lonely. 

As  we  neared  Kharbarosvk  came  signs  of  settlement,  the 
signs  of  settlement  I  had  been  accustomed  to  in  Australia. 
Tliere  were  tree  stumps,  more  and  more,  and  anything  more 
desolate  than  a  forest  of  newly  cut  tree  stumps  I  don't 
know.  It  always  spells  to  me  ruthless  destruction.  I  am 
sure  it  did  here,  for  they  cut  down  recklessly,  sweeping  all 
before  them.  It  seemed  to  cry  out,  as  all  newly  settled  land 
that  ever  I  have  seen,  and  I  have  seen  a  good  deal,  the 
distaste  of  the  people  who  here  mean  to  make  their  homes. 
These  are  not  owe  trees,  they  say ;  they  are  not  beautiful 
like  the  trees  of  our  o\m  old  home ;  let  us  cut  them  down, 
there  are  plenty ;  by  and  by  when  we  have  time,  when  we 
are  settled,  we  will  plant  trees  that  really  are  worth  growing. 
We  shall  not  see  them,  of  course,  our  children  will  benefit 
little;  but  they  wifl  be  nice  for  our  grandchildren,  if  we 
hold  on  so  long.    But  no  one  believes  they  will  stay  so 


166  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

long ;  they  hope  to  make  money  and  go  back.  Meanwhile 
they  want  the  timber,  but  they  neglect  to  plant  fresh 
trees. 

They  wanted  the  timber  to  build  Kharbarosvk.  This  is  a 
town  of  the  outposts,  a  frontier  town ;  there  are  no  towns 
like  it  in  the  British  Isles,  where  they  value  their  land  and 
build  towns  compactly,  but  I  have  seen  its  counterpart 
many  a  time  in  Australia,  and  I  know  there  must  be  its  like 
in  America  and  Canada.  It  straggled  all  along  the  river 
bank,  and  its  wide  streets,  streets  paved,  or  rather  floored, 
here  and  there  with  planks  of  wood,  were  sparsely  planted 
with  houses.  In  one  respect  Australian  towns  of  the  frontier 
are  much  wiser.  When  there  is  a  train  they  do  build  their 
stations  with  some  regard  for  the  comfort  and  convenience 
of  the  inhabitants.  In  Russia  wherever  I  have  been  the 
railway  station  is  a  long  distance,  sometimes  half-an-hour's 
drive,  from  the  town  it  serves.  I  suppose  it  is  one  of  the 
evils  of  the  last  bad  regime  and  that  in  the  future,  the  future 
which  is  for  the  people,  it  will  be  remedied,  but  it  is  difficult 
to  see  what  purpose  it  serves.  I  had  to  get  a  drosliky  to 
the  hotel.  We  drove  first  along  a  country  road,  then 
through  the  wide  grass-grown  streets  of  the  town,  and 
I  arrived  at  the  principal  hotel,  kept  by  a  (ierman  on 
Russian  lines,  for  the  restaurant  was  perfectly  distinct  from 
the  living-rooms.  I  put  it  on  record  it  was  an  excellent 
restaurant ;  I  remember  that  cold  soup — the  day  was  hot — 
and  that  most  fragrant  coffee  still. 

From  the  windows  of  my  bedroom  I  saw  another  of  the 
world's  great  rivers.  I  looked  away  over  a  wide  expanse  of 
water  sparkling  in  the  sunshine :  it  was  the  junction  of  the 
Ussuri  and  the  Amur,  and  it  was  like  a  great  lake  or  the  sea. 
It  was  very,  very  still,  clear  as  glass,  and  the  blue  sky  and 
white  clouds  were  reflected  in  it,  and  there  were  green  islands 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RIVERS  167 

and  low  green  banks.     All  was  colour,  but  soft  coloiu*  with- 
out outlines,  like  a  Turner  picture. 

The  Amur  is  hard  frozen  for  about  five  months  of 
the  year  and  for  about  two  more  is  neither  good  solid 
ice  nor  navigable  water.  It  is  made  by  the  joining  of 
the  Shilka  and  the  Aigun  in  about  lat.  53°  N.  121°  E., 
and,  counting  in  the  Shilka,  must  be  nearly  three 
thousand  miles  in  length,  and  close  on  two  thousand 
miles  have  I  now  travelled.  I  don't  know  the  Amur,  of 
course,  but  at  least  I  may  claim  to  have  been  introduced  to 
it,  and  that,  I  think,  is  more  than  the  majority  of  Englishmen 
may  do.  And  oh,  it  is  a  mighty  river  !  At  Kharbarosvk, 
over  a  thousand  versts — about  six  hundred  and  forty  miles 
— from  the  sea,  it  is  at  least  a  mile  and  a  third  wide,  and 
towards  the  mouth,  what  Anth  backwaters  and  swamps,  it 
takes  up  sometimes  about  forty  miles  of  country,  while  the 
main  channel  is  often  nearly  three  miles  wide.  It  rises 
in  the  hills  of  Trans-Baikal — the  Yablonoi  Mountains  we 
used  to  call  them  when  I  was  at  school.  Really  I  think  it  is 
the  watershed  that  nms  up  East  Central  Siberia  and  turns 
the  waters  to  the  shallow  Sea  of  Okhotsk ;  and  it  cuts  its 
way  through  wooded  hills  among  rich  land  hardly  as  yet 
touched  by  agriculture,  beautiful,  lovely  hills  they  are,  steep 
and  wooded.  It  climbs  down  into  the  flat  country  and  then 
again,  just  before  it  reaches  the  sea,  it  is  in  the  hills, 
colder  hills  this  time,  though  the  Amur  falls  into  the  sea  on 
much  the  same  parallel  of  latitude  as  that  which  sees  it 
rise,  only  it  seems  to  me  that  the  farther  you  get  east  the 
colder  and  more  extreme  is  the  climate.  For  Nikolayeusk 
at  the  mouth  is  in  the  same  latitude  as  London,  but  as  a 
port  it  is  closed  for  seven  months  of  the  year.  True,  the 
winter  in  Siberia  is  lovely,  bright,  clear  cold,  a  hard,  bright 
clearness,  but  the  thermometer  is  often  down  below  —40° 


168  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

Fahrenheit,  and  when  that  happens  life  is  difficult  for  both 
man  and  beast.  No  wonder  it  is  an  empty  river.  The 
wonder  to  me  is  that  there  should  be  so  much  life  as  there 
is.  For  in  those  five  months  that  it  is  open  fine  large 
steamers  run  from  Nikolayeusk  by  Kharbarosvk  to 
Blagoveschensk,  and  smaller  ones,  but  still  rather  fine,  to 
Stretensk,  where  river  navigation,  for  steamers  of  any  size 
at  any  rate,  ceases.  There  are  the  two  months,  April- 
May,  September-October,  when  the  river  cannot  be  used 
at  all,  and  there  are  the  winter  months  when  it  may  be, 
and  is  to  a  certain  extent,  used  as  a  road,  but  with  the 
thermometer  down  far  below  zero  no  one  is  particularly 
keen  on  travelling.  It  has  its  disadvantages.  So  most  of 
the  travelling  is  done  in  the  summer  months  and  in  1914 
the  steamers  were  crowded.  Now,  I  suppose,  they  are 
fighting  there.     It  is  a  country  well  worth  fighting  for. 

It  was  a  curious  contrast,  the  lonely  empty  river  and  the 
packed  steamer.  It  was  an  event  when  we  passed  another ; 
two  made  a  crowd  ;  and  very,  very  seldom  did  we  pass  more 
than  two  in  a  day.  But  it  was  delightful  moving  along,  the 
gi'eat  crowded  steamer  but  a  puny  thing  on  the  wide  river, 
the  waters  still  and  clear,  reflecting  the  blue  sky  and  the 
soft  white  clouds  and  the  low  banks  far,  far  away.  When 
there  were  hills  they  were  generally  closer,  as  if  the  river 
liad  had  more  trouble  in  cutting  a  passage  and  therefore 
had  not  had  time  to  spread  itself  as  it  did  in  the  plain 
country.  Tlie  hills  were  densely  wooded,  mostly  with  dark 
firs,  with  an  occasional  deciduous  tree  showing  up  brightly 
among  the  dark  foliage,  and  about  Blagoveschensk  there  is 
a  beautiful  oak  known  as  the  velvet  oak,  the  wood  of  which 
is  much  sought  for  making  furniture.  However  dense  the 
forest,  every  here  and  there  would  be  a  wide  swath  of  green 
bare  of  trees — a  fire  brake ;  for  these  forests  in  the  summer 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RIVERS   169 

burn  fiercely,  and  coming  back  I  saw  the  valleys  thick  with 
the  cm-ling  blue  wood  smoke,  smelt  the  aromatic  smell  of 
the  burning  fir  woods,  and  at  night  saw  the  hills  outlined 
in  flames.  It  was  a  gorgeous  sight,  but  it  is  desperately 
destructive  for  the  country,  especially  a  country  where  the 
wood  glows  so  slowly.  But  at  first  there  were  no  fires, 
and  what  struck  me  was  the  vastness  and  the  loneliness  of 
the  mighty  river.  I  had  the  same  feeling  on  the  Congo  in 
the  tropics,  a  great  and  lonely  river  with  empty  banks,  but 
that  was  for  a  distance  under  two  hundred  miles.  Here  in 
the  north  the  great  lonely  river  went  wandering  on  for  ten 
times  as  far,  and  still  the  feeling  when  one  stood  apart  from 
the  steamer  was  of  loneliness  and  grandeur.  Man  was  such 
a  small  thing  here.  At  night  a  little  wind  sighed  over  the 
waters  or  swept  down  between  the  liills  ;  round  the  bows  the 
water  rose  white;  there  was  a  waste  of  tossing  water  all 
round,  under  a  lowering  sky,  and  the  far-away  banks  were 
lost  in  the  gloom.  A  light  would  appear,  perhaps  two 
lights  shining  out  of  the  darkness,  but  they  only  emphasised 
the  loneliness.     A  wonderful  river  ! 

The  navigation  of  the  river  is  a  profession  in  itself.  There 
is  a  school  for  the  navigators  at  Blagoveschensk  where  they 
are  properly  trained.  All  along  we  came  across  the  red 
beacons  that  mark  the  way,  while  beside  them  in  the  day- 
time we  could  see  the  cabins  of  the  lonely  men  who  tended 
them. 

Truly  a  voyage  down  the  Amur  in  siunmer  is  not  to  be 
easily  forgotten,  and  yet,  sitting  here  writing  about  it  in  my 
garden  in  Kent,  I  sometimes  wonder  did  I  dream  it  all,  the 
vastness  and  the  loneliness  and  the  grandeur  that  is  so  veiy 
different  from  the  orchard  land  wherein  is  set  my  home. 
You  do  not  see  orchards  on  the  Amur,  the  climate  is  too 
rigorous,  and  I  doubt  if  they  grow  much  beyond  berries, 


170  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

a  blue  berry  in  large  quantities,  raspberries,  and  coming 
back  we  bought  cucumbers. 

Oh,  but  it  was  lovely  on  that  river.  Dearly  should  I  like 
to  share  its  delights  with  a  companion  who  could  discuss  it 
with  me,  but  somehow  it  seems  to  be  my  lot  to  travel  alone. 

Not,  of  course,  that  I  was  really  alone.  Though  the 
steamers  were  few,  perhaps  because  they  were  few,  they 
were  crowded.  There  were  two  companies  on  the  river, 
the  *'  Sormovo  "  or  quick-sailing  company,  and  the  Amur 
Company ;  and  I  hereby  put  it  on  record  that  the  Amiu* 
Company  is  much  the  best.  The  John  Cockerill,  named 
after  some  long-dead  English  engineer  who  was  once  on 
the  Amur,  is  one  of  the  best  and  most  comfortable. 

At  Kharbarosvk,  finding  the  steamer  did  not  leave  till 
the  evening  of  the  next  day,  I  had  naturally  gone  to  a  hotel. 
It  seemed  the  obvious  thing  to  do.  But  I  was  wTong.  The 
great  Russian  steamship  companies,  with  a  laudable  desire  to 
keep  passengers  and  make  them  comfoi'table,  always  allow 
a  would-be  traveller  to  spend  at  least  two  days  on  board 
in  the  ports,  paying,  of  course,  for  his  food.  And  I,  who  had 
only  come  about  thirty-six  hours  too  soon,  had  actually  put 
up  at  a  hotel,  with  the  John  Cockerill  lying  at  the  wharf. 
The  Russo-Asiatic  Bank,  as  represented  by  a  woman  clerk, 
the  only  one  there  who  could  speak  English,  was  shocked  at 
my  extravagance  and  said  so.  These  women  clerks  were  a 
little  surprise  for  me,  for  in  1914  I  was  not  accustomed  to 
seeing  women  in  banks,  but  here  in  Eastern  Siberia — in 
Vladivostok,  Kliarbarosvk,  and  all  the  towns  of  the  Amur 
— ^they  were  as  usual  as  the  men. 

The  John  Cockerill  surprised  me  as  much  as  I  surprised 
the  bank  clerk.  To  begin  with,  I  didn't  realise  it  was  the 
John  Cockerill,  for  I  could  not  read  the  Russian  lettei*s,  and 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RFV^RS  171 

at  first  I  did  not  recognise  the  name  as  pronounced  by  the 
Russians.  She  was  a  very  gorgeous,  comfortable  ship,  with 
a  dining  saloon  and  a  lounge  gorgeous  in  green  velvet.  And 
yet  she  was  not  a  post  steamer,  but  spent  most  of  her  time 
drawing  barges  laden  vnth  cargo,  and  stopped  to  discharge 
and  take  in  at  all  manner  of  lonely  little  ports  on  the  great 
river.  She  was  a  big  steamer,  divided  into  four  classes,  and 
was  packed  with  passengers :  Russians  in  the  first,  second 
and  third  class,  \N'ith  an  occasional  German  or  Japanese, 
and  in  the  fourth  an  extraordinary  medley  of  poorer  Russians, 
Chinese  and  Gilyaks  and  Golds,  the  aboriginals  of  the 
countn,%  men  with  a  Mongolian  cast  of  countenance,  long 
coarse  black  hair,  very  often  beards,  and  dirty — the  ordinary 
poor  Chinaman  is  clean  and  tidy  beside  them. 

But  the  first  class  was  luxurious.  We  had  electric  light 
and  hot  and  cold  water.  The  cabins  were  not  to  hold  more 
than  two,  and  you  brought  your  own  bedding.  I  dare  say 
it  could  have  been  hired  on  the  steamer,  but  the  difficulty 
of  language  always  stood  in  my  way,  and  once  away  from 
the  seaboard  in  North-Eastern  Asia  the  only  other  European 
language  beside  Russian  that  is  likely  to  be  understood  is 
G^erman,  and  I  have  no  Gennan.  I  was  lucky  enough  on 
the  John  Cocker  ill  to  find  the  wife  of  a  Russian  colonel  who 
spoke  a  little  English.  She,  with  her  husband,  was  taking 
a  summer  holiday  by  journeying  up  to  Nikolayeusk,  and  she 
very  kindly  took  Buchanan  and  me  under  her  wing  and 
interpreted  for  us.  It  was  very  nice  for  me,  and  the  only 
thing  I  had  to  complain  of  on  that  steamer  was  the  way  in 
which  the  night  watch  promenading  the  deck  shut  my  window 
and  slammed  to  the  shutters.  They  did  it  every  night,  with 
a  care  for  my  welfare  I  could  have  done  without.  In  a 
river  steamer  the  cabins  are  all  in  the  centre  with  the  deck 


172  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

round,  and  the  watch  evidently  could  not  understand  how 
any  woman  could  really  desire  to  sleep  under  an  open 
window.  I  used  to  get  up  early  in  the  morning  and  walk 
round  the  decks,  and  I  found  that  first  and  second  class 
invariably  shut  their  windows  tight,  though  the  nights  were 
always  just  pleasantly  cool,  and  consequently  those  passages 
betrv\^een  the  cabins  smelt  like  a  menagerie,  and  an  ill-kept 
menagerie  at  that.  They  say  Russians  age  early  and  in- 
variably they  are  of  a  pallid  complexion.  I  do  not  wonder, 
now  that  I  have  seen  their  dread  of  fresh  air.  Again  and 
again  I  was  told  :  "  Draughts  are  not  good  !  "  Draughts  ! 
I'd  rather  sleep  in  a  hurricane  than  in  the  hermetically  sealed 
boxes  in  which  those  passengers  stowed  themselves  on  board 
the  river  steamers.  On  the  John  Cockerill  the  windows  of 
the  dining  saloon  and  the  lounge  did  open,  but  on  the 
steamer  on  which  I  went  up  the  river,  the  Kanovina,  one  of 
the  "  Sormovo  "  G^mpany,  and  the  mail  steamer,  there  was 
only  one  saloon  in  the  first  class.  We  had  our  meals  and 
we  lived  there.  It  was  a  fine  large  room  placed  for'ard 
in  the  ship's  bows,  with  beautiful  large  windows  of  glass 
through  which  we  could  see  excellently  the  scenery;  but 
those  windows  were  fast ;  they  would  not  open ;  they  were 
not  made  to  open.  The  atmosphere  was  always  thick  when 
I  went  in  for  breakfast  in  the  morning,  and  I  used  to  make 
desperate  efforts  to  get  the  little  windows  that  ran  round 
the  top  opened.  I  could  not  do  it  myself,  as  you  had  to  get 
on  the  roof  of  the  saloon,  the  deck  where  the  look-out  stood, 
and  anyhow  they  were  only  little  things,  a  foot  high  by  two 
feet  broad.  But  such  an  innovation  was  evidently  regarded 
as  dangerous.  Besides  the  fact  that  draughts  were  bad, 
I  have  been  assured  that  perhaps  it  was  going  to  rain — 
the  rain  couldn't  come  in  both  sides — and  at  night  I  was 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RHHERS    173 

assured  they  couldn't  be  opened  because  the  Hghts  would 
be  confusing  to  other  steamers  ! 

Nobody  seemed  to  mind  an  atmosphere  you  could  have 
cut  with  a  knife.  I  am  sure  if  the  walls  had  been  taken  away 
it  would  have  stood  there  in  a  solid  block — a  dark-colouied, 
high-smelling  block,  I  should  think.  I  gave  up  trying  to  do 
good  to  a  community  against  its  will  and  used  to  cany  my 
meals  outside  and  have  them  on  the  little  tables  that  were 
dotted  about  the  deck. 

After  all,  bar  that  little  difficulty  about  the  air — and 
certainly  if  right  goes  with  the  majority  I  have  no  cause  of 
complaint,  I  was  in  a  minority  of  one — those  steamers  made 
the  most  comfortable  and  cheapest  form  of  travelling  I  have 
ever  undertaken.  From  Kharbarosvk  to  Nikolayeusk  for 
over  three  days'  voyage  my  fare  with  a  fii'st-class  cabin  to 
myself  was  twelve  roubles — about  one  pound  four  shillings. 
I  came  back  by  the  mail  steamer  and  it  was  fifteen  roubles 
— about  one  pound  ten  shillings.  This,  of  course,  does  not 
include  food.  Food  on  a  Russian  steamer  you  buy  as  you 
would  on  a  railway  train.  You  may  make  arrangements 
with  the  restaurant  and  have  breakfast,  luncheon,  afternoon 
tea  and  dinner  for  so  much  a  day ;  or  you  may  have  each 
meal  separate  and  pay  for  it  as  you  have  it ;  or  you  may  buy 
your  food  at  the  various  stopping-places,  get  your  kettles 
filled  with  hot  water  for  a  trifling  tip,  and  feed  yom'self  in 
the  privacy  of  your  own  cabin.  I  found  the  simplest  way, 
having  no  servant,  was  to  pay  so  much  a  day — five  shillings 
on  the  big  steamers,  four  shillings  on  the  smaller  one — and 
live  as  I  would  do  at  a  hotel.  The  food  was  excellent  on  the 
Amur  Company's  ships.  We  had  chicken  and  salmon — not 
much  salmon,  it  was  too  cheap — and  sturgeon.  Sturgeon, 
that  prince  of  fish,  was  a  treat,  and  caviare  was  as  common  as 


174  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

marmalade  used  to  be  on  a  British  breakfast-table.  It  was 
generally  of  the  red  variety  that  we  do  not  see  here  and  looked 
not  unlike  clusters  of  red  currants,  only  I  don't  know  that  I 
have  ever  seen  currants  in  such  quantities.  I  enjoyed  it 
very  much  till  one  day,  looking  over  the  railing  into  the 
stern  of  the  boat,  where  much  of  the  food  was  roughly 
prepared — an  unwise  thing  to  do — I  saw  an  extremely  dirty 
woman  of  the  country,  a  Gilyak,  in  an  extremely  dirty 
garment,  with  her  dirty  bare  arms  plunged  to  the  elbow 
in  the  red  caviare  she  was  preparing  for  the  table.  Then 
I  discovered  for  a  little  while  that  I  didn't  much  fancy 
caviare.  But  I  wish  I  had  some  of  that  nice  red  caviare 
now. 

The  second  class  differed  but  little  fiom  the  first.  There 
was  not  so  much  decoration  about  the  saloons,  and  on  the 
John  Cockerill,  where  the  first  class  had  two  rooms,  they  had 
only  one ;  and  the  food  was  much  the  same,  only  not  so  many 
courses.  There  was  plenty,  and  they  only  paid  three  shillings 
a  day  for  the  four  meals.  The  people  were  much  the  same 
as  we  in  the  first  class,  and  I  met  a  girl  from  Samara,  in 
Central  Russia,  who  spoke  a  little  French.  She  was  a 
teacher  and  was  going  to  Nikolayeusk  for  a  holiday  exactly 
as  I  have  seen  teachers  here  in  England  go  to  Switzerland. 

But  between  the  first  and  second  and  the  third  and 
fourth  class  was  a  gicat  gulf  fixed.  They  were  both  on  the 
lower  deck,  the  third  under  the  first  and  the  fourth  under 
the  second,  while  amidships  between  them  were  the  kitchens 
and  the  engines  and  the  store  of  wood  for  fuel.  Tlie  third 
had  no  cabins,  but  the  people  went  to  bed  and  apparently 
spent  their  days  in  places  like  old-fashioned  dimier-wagons  ; 
and  they  bought  their  own  food,  either  from  the  steamer  or 
at  the  various  stopping-places,  and  ate  it  ontheu'  beds,  for 
they  had  no  saloon.    The  fouith  class  was  still  more  primi- 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RIVERS    175 

tive.  The  passengers,  men,  women  and  children,  were  packed 
away  upon  shelves  rising  in  three  tiers,  one  above  the  other, 
and  the  place  of  each  man  and  woman  was  marked  out  by- 
posts.  There  was  no  effort  made  to  provide  separate  accom- 
modation for  men  and  women.  As  far  as  I  could  see,  they 
all  herded  together  like  cattle. 

The  ship  was  crowded.  The  Russian  colonel's  wife  and  I 
used  to  walk  up  and  down  the  long  decks  for  exercise,  with 
Buchanan  in  attendance,  she  improving  her  English  and  I 
learning  no  Russian.  It  is  evidently  quite  the  custom  for 
the  people  of  the  great  towns  of  the  Amm*  to  make  every 
sunmier  an  excursion  up  the  river,  and  the  poorer  people, 
the  third  and  fourth  class,  go  up  to  Nikolayeusk  for  the 
fishing.  Hence  those  shelves  crowded  with  dirty  folk. 
There  were  troughs  for  washing  outside  the  fourth  class,  I 
discovered,  minor  editions  of  om*  luxurious  bathrooms  in 
the  first  class,  but  I  am  bound  to  say  they  did  not  have 
much  use.  Washing  even  in  this  hot  weather,  and  it 
certainly  was  pleasantly  warm,  was  more  honom-ed  in  the 
breach  than  in  the  observance.  The  only  drawback  to  the 
bathrooms  in  the  first  class,  from  my  point  of  view,  was  their 
want  of  air.  They  were  built  so  that  apparently  there  was 
no  means  of  getting  fresh  air  into  them,  and  I  always  regarded 
myself  as  a  very  plucky  woman  when  in  the  interests  of 
cleanliness  I  had  a  bath.  The  hot  water  and  the  airlessness 
always  brought  me  to  such  a  condition  of  faintness  that  I 
generally  had  to  rush  out  and  lie  on  the  couch  in  my  cabin 
to  recover,  and  then  if  somebody  outside  took  it  upon  them 
to  bang  to  the  window  I  was  reduced  to  the  last  gasp. 

The  John  Cockerill  was  run  like  a  man-of-war.  The  bells 
struck  the  hours  and  half-hours,  the  captain  and  officers  were 
clad  in  white  and  brass-bound,  and  the  men  were  in  orthodox 
sailor's  rig.    One  man  came  and  explained  to  me — he  spoke 


176  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

no  tongue  that  I  could  understand,  but  his  meaning  was 
obvious — that  Buchanan  was  not  allowed  on  the  first-class 
deck,  the  rules  and  regulations,  so  said  the  colonel's  wife, 
said  he  was  not ;  but  no  one  seemed  to  object,  so  I  thought 
to  smooth  matters  by  paying  half-a-rouble  ;  then  I  found  that 
every  sailor  I  came  across  apparently  made  the  same  state- 
ment, and  having  listened  to  one  or  two,  at  last  I  decided 
to  part  with  no  more  cash,  and  it  was,  I  suppose,  agreed  that 
Buchanan  had  paid  his  footing,  for  they  troubled  me  no 
more  about  him. 

Three  or  four  times  a  day  we  pulled  up  at  some  little 
wayside  place,  generally  only  two  or  three  log-houses  with 
painted  doors  or  windows,  an  occasional  potato  patch  and 
huge  stacks  of  wood  to  replenish  the  fuel  of  the  steamer, 
and  with  much  yelling  they  put  out  a  long  gangway,  and 
while  the  wood  was  brought  on  board  we  all  went  ashore 
to  see  the  country.  The  country  was  always  exactly  alike, 
vast  and  green  and  lonely,  the  sparse  human  habitations 
emphasising  that  vastness  and  loneliness.  The  people  were 
few.  The  men  wore  belted  blouses  and  high  boots  and  very 
often,  though  it  was  summer,  fur  caps,  and  the  women  very 
voluminous  and  very  dirty  skirts  with  unbelted  blouses, 
a  shawl  across  their  shoulders  and  a  kerchief  on  their  un- 
kempt hair.  They  were  dirty ;  they  were  untidy  ;  they  were 
uneducated  ;  they  belonged  to  the  very  poorest  classes  ;  and 
I  think  I  can  safely  say  that  all  the  way  from  Kharbarosvk 
to  Nikolayeusk  the  only  attempt  at  farming  I  saw  was  in  a  few 
scattered  places  where  the  grass  had  been  cut  and  tossed  up 
into  haycocks.  And  yet  those  people  impressed  upon  me  a 
sense  of  their  virility  and  strength,  a  feeling  that  I  had  nevei* 
had  when  moving  among  the  Chinese,  where  every  inch  of 
land — bar  the  graves — is  turned  to  good  account.  Was  it 
the  condition  of  the  women  ?    I  wonder.     I  know  I  never 


ONE  OF  THE  WORLD'S  GREAT  RIVERS   177 

saw  one  of  those  stalwart  women  pounding  along  on  her 
big  flat  feet  without  a  feeling  of  gladness  and  thankfulness. 
Here  at  least  was  good  material.  It  was  crude  and  rough, 
of  course,  but  it  was  there  waiting  for  the  wheel  of  the  potter. 
Shall  we  find  the  potter  in  the  turmoil  of  the  revolution 
and  the  war  ? 

We  went  on,  north,  north  with  a  little  of  east,  and  it  grew 
cooler  and  the  twilight  grew  longer.  I  do  not  know  how 
other  people  do,  but  I  count  my  miles  and  realise  distances 
from  some  distance  I  knew  well  in  my  youth.  So  I 
know  that  from  Kharbarosvk  to  Nikolayeusk  is  a  little 
farther  away  than  is  Melbourne  from  Sydney ;  and  always 
we  went  by  way  of  the  great  empty  land,  by  way  of  the 
great  empty  river.  Sometimes  far  in  the  distance  we  could 
see  the  blue  hills  ;  sometimes  the  hills  were  close  ;  but  always 
it  was  empty,  because  the  few  inhabitants,  the  house  or  two 
at  the  little  stopping-places  where  were  the  piles  of  wood 
for  the  steamer,  but  emphasised  the  loneliness  and  emptiness. 
You  could  have  put  all  the  people  we  saw  in  a  street  of  a 
suburb  of  London  and  lost  them,  and  I  suppose  the  distance 
traversed  was  as  far  as  from  London  to  Aberdeen.  It  was 
a  beautiful  land,  a  land  with  a  wondrous  charm,  but  it  is 
waiting  for  the  colonist  who  will  dare  the  rigours  of  the  winter 
and  populate  it. 

At  last  we  steamed  up  to  the  port  of  Nikolayeusk,  set  at 
the  entrance  of  the  shallow  Sea  of  Okhotsk,  right  away  in 
the  east  of  the  world.  \Mien  I  set  foot  upon  the  wharf 
among  all  the  barrels  with  which  it  was  packed  I  could 
hardly  believe  I  had  come  so  far  east,  so  far  away  fiom  my 
regular  beat.  One  of  my  brothers  always  declares  I  sent 
him  to  sea  because  my  sex  prevented  me  from  going,  and  yet 
here  I  was,  in  spite  of  that  grave  disadvantage,  in  as  remote 
a  corner  of  the  earth  as  even  he  might  have  hoped  to  attain. 

M 


178  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

It  was  a  July  day,  sunny  and  warm.  They  had  slain  an 
Austrian  archduke  in  Serbia  and  the  world  was  on  the  verge 
of  the  war  of  the  ages,  but  I  knew  nothing  of  all  that.  I 
stepped  off  the  steamer  and  proceeded  to  investigate 
Nikolayeusk,  well  satisfied  with  the  point  at  which  I  had 
arrived. 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   ENDS   OF  THE   EARTH 

Nikola YEUSK  seemed  to  me  the  ends  of  the  earth.  I  hardly 
know  why  it  should  have  done  so,  for  I  arrived  there  by 
way  of  a  very  comfortable  steamer  and  I  have  made  my 
way  to  very  much  more  ungetatable  places.  I  suppose  the 
explanation  is  that  all  the  other  places  I  have  visited  I  had 
looked  up  so  long  on  the  map  that  when  I  arrived  I  only  felt 
I  was  attaining  the  goal  I  had  set  out  to  reach,  whereas  I 
must  admit  I  had  never  heard  of  Nikolayeusk  till  Mr  Sly, 
the  British  consul,  sketched  it  out  as  the  end  of  my  itinerary 
on  the  Siberian  rivers,  and  ten  days  later  I  found  myself 
in  the  Far  Eastern  to^\^l.  I  remember  one  of  my  brothers 
writing  to  me  once  from  Petropaulovski : 

"  I  always  said  my  address  would  some  day  be  Kamscatkha 
and  here  I  am  !  " 

Well,  I  never  said  my  address  would  be  Nikolayeusk 
because  I  had  never  heard  of  it,  but  here  I  was  nevertheless. 
The  weather  was  warm,  the  sun  poured  down  from  a  cloud- 
less blue  sky,  and  in  the  broad,  grass-groA\Ti  streets,  such 
streets  have  I  seen  in  Australian  towns,  when  the  faint  breeze 
stirred  the  yellow  dust  rose  on  the  air.  And  the  to^vn 
straggled  all  along  the  northern  side  of  the  river,  a  to^\Ti 
of  low,  one-storeyed  wooden  houses  for  the  most  part,  with 
an  occasional  two-storeyed  house  and  heavy  shutters  to  all 
the.  windows.  There  was  a  curious  absence  of  stone,  and 
the  streets  when  they  were  paved  at  all  were,  as  in  Khar- 
barosvk,  lines  of  planks,  sometimes  three,  sometimes  five 
179 


180  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

planks  wide,  with  a  waste  of  dust  or  mud  or  grass,  as  the  case 
might  be,  on  either  side. 

The  Russians  I  found  kindness  itself.  In  Vladivostok  I 
had  met  a  man  who  knew  one  of  my  brothers — I  sometimes 
wonder  if  I  could  get  to  such  a  remote  corner  of  the  earth 
that  I  should  not  meet  someone  who  knew  one  of  these 
ubiquitous  brothers  of  mine — and  this  good  friend,  having 
sampled  the  family,  took  me  on  trust  and  found  someone 
else  who  would  give  me  a  letter  to  the  manager  of  the  Russo- 
Asiatic  Bank  at  Nikolayeusk.  Tliis  was  a  godsend,  for 
Mr  Pauloff  spoke  excellent  English,  and  he  and  his  corre- 
sponding clerk,  a  Russian  lady  of  middle  age  who  had  spent 
a  long  time  in  France,  took  me  in  hand  and  showed  me  the 
sights.  Madame  Schulmann  and  I  and  Buchanan  drove  all 
over  the  town  in  one  of  the  most  ancient  victorias  I  have 
ever  seen — ^the  most  ancient  are  in  Saghalien,  which  is 
beyond  the  ends  of  the  earth — and  she  very  kindly  took  me 
to  a  meal  at  the  principal  hotel.  I  was  staying  on  board 
the  steamer  while  I  looked  around  me.  The  visit  with  this 
lady  decided  me  not  to  go  there.  It  was  about  four  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon,  so  I  don't  know  whether  our  meal  was 
dinner  or  tea  or  luncheon ;  we  had  good  soup,  I  remember, 
and  nice  wine,  to  say  nothing  of  excellent  coffee,  but  the 
atmosphere  left  much  to  be  desired.  I  don't  suppose  the 
windows  ever  had  been  opened  since  the  place  was  built,  and 
no  one  seemed  to  see  any  necessity  for  opening  them.  My 
hostess  smiled  at  my  distress.  She  said  she  liked  fresh  air 
herself  but  that  for  a  whole  year  she  had  lodged  in  a  room 
where  the  windows  would  not  open.  She  had  wanted  to 
have  one  of  the  panes — not  the  window,  just  one  of  the 
panes — made  to  open  to  admit  fresh  air,  and  had  offered  to 
do  it  at  her  own  expense,  but  her  landlord  refused.  It 
would  spoil  the  look  of  the  room.     She  advised  me  strongly 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  181 

if  I  wanted  fresh  air  to  stay  as  long  as  I  could  on  board  the 
steamer  at  the  wharf,  and  I  decided  to  take  her  advice. 

The  Russo-Asiatic  Bank  was  not  unlike  the  banks  I  have 
seen  in  Australian  townships,  in  that  it  was  built  of  wood 
of  one  storey  and  the  manager  and  his  wife  lived  on 
the  premises,  but  the  roof  was  far  more  ornamental  than 
Australia  could  stand  and  gave  the  touch  of  the  East  that 
made  for  romance.  The  manager  was  good  enough  to  ask 
me  to  dinner  and  to  include  Buchanan  in  the  invitation 
because  I  did  not  like  to  leave  the  poor  little  chap  shut  up 
in  my  cabin.  Tliis  was  really  dinner,  called  so,  and  we  had 
it  at  five  o'clock  of  a  hot  summer's  afternoon,  a  very  excellent 
dinner,  with  delicious  sour  cream  in  the  soup  and  excellent 
South  Australian  wine,  not  the  stuff  that  passes  for  Australian 
wine  in  England  and  that  so  many  people  take  medicinally, 
but  really  good  wine,  such  as  Australians  themselves  drink. 
The  house  was  built  with  a  ciu-ious  lack  of  partitions  that 
made  for  spaciousness,  so  that  you  wandered  from  one  room 
to  another,  hardly  knowing  that  you  had  gone  from  the 
sitting-room  to  the  bedroom,  and  James  Buchanan  going 
on  a  voyage  of  discovery  unfortunately  found  the  cradle, 
to  the  dismay  of  his  mistress.  He  stood  and  looked  at  it 
and  barked. 

"  Gracious  me  !  What's  this  funny  thing  !  I've  never 
seen  anytliing  like  it  before  !  " 

Neither  had  I ;  but  I  was  covered  with  shame  when  a 
wail  proclaimed  the  presence  of  the  son  and  heir. 

Naturally  I  expressed  myself — truly — charmed  with  the 
town,  and  Mr  Pauloff  smiled  and  nodded  at  his  wife,  who 
spoke  no  English. 

"  She  hates  it,"  said  he ;  "  she  has  never  been  well  since 
we  came  here." 

She  was  white,  poor  little  girl,  as  the  paper  on  which  this 


182  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

is  written,  and  very  frail-looking,  but  it  never  seemed  to 
occur  to  anyone  that  it  Avould  be  well  to  open  the  double 
windows,  and  so  close  was  the  air  of  the  room  that  it  made 
me  feel  sick  and  faint. 

"  She  never  goes  out,"  said  her  husband.  "  She  is  not 
well  enough." 

I  believe  there  was  a  time  in  our  grandmothers'  days 
when  we  too  dreaded  the  fresh  air. 

And  in  this  the  town  differed  markedly  from  any  Australian 
towns  I  have  known.  The  double  windows  were  all  tight 
shut  these  warm  July  days,  with  all  the  cracks  stopped  up 
with  cotton  wool,  with  often  decorations  of  coloured  ribbons 
or  paper  wandering  across  the  space  between.  Also  there  were 
very  heavy  shutters,  and  I  thought  these  must  be  to  shut 
out  the  winter  storms,  but  M.  Pauloff  did  not  seem  to  think 
much  of  the  winter  storms,  though  he  admitted  they  had 
some  bad  blizzards  and  regularly  the  thermometer  went 
down  below  -  40°  Fahrenheit. 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  we  shut  them  at  night,  at  four  in  the 
winter  and  at  nine  in  the  summer.  Leave  them  open  you 
cannot." 

"  But  why  ?  "  I  thought  it  was  some  device  for  keeping 
out  still  more  air. 

"  There  is  danger,"  said  he — "  danger  from  men." 

"  Do  they  steal  ?  "  said  I,  surprised. 

"  And  kill,"  he  added  with  conviction. 

It  seems  that  when  the  Japanese  invaded  Saghalien,  the 
great  island  which  lies  opposite  the  mouth  of  the  Amur, 
they  liberated  at  least  thirty  thousand  convicts,  and  they 
burnt  the  records  so  that  no  one  could  prove  anything 
against  them,  and  the  majority  of  these  convicts  were  un- 
luckily not  all  suffering  political  prisoners,  but  criminals,  many 
of  them  of  the  deepest  dye.    These  first  made  Saghalien  an 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  183 

unwholesome  place  to  live  in,  but  gradually  they  migrated 
to  the  mainland,  and  Nikolayeusk  and  other  to-\vns  of 
Eastern  Siberia  are  by  no  means  safe  places  in  consequence. 
Madame  Schulmann  told  me  that  many  a  time  men  were 
killed  in  the  open  streets  and  that  going  back  to  her  lodgings 
on  the  dark  \vinter  evenings  she  was  very  much  afraid  and 
always  tried  to  do  it  in  daylight. 

Nikolayeusk  is  officially  supposed  to  have  thirteen  thousand 
inhabitants,  but  really  in  the  winter-time,  says  Mr  Pauloff, 
they  shrink  to  ten  thousand,  while  in  the  siunmer  they  rise 
to  over  forty  thousand,  everybody  coming  for  the  fishing, 
the  great  salmon  fisheries. 

"  Here  is  noting,"  said  he,  "  noting — only  fish." 

And  this  remark  he  made  at  intervals.  He  could  not 
reiterate  it  too  often,  as  if  he  were  warning  me  against 
expecting  too  much  from  this  remote  corner  of  the  world. 
But  indeed  the  fish  interested  me.  The  summer  fishing 
was  on  while  I  was  there,  but  that,  it  seems,  is  as  nothing 
to  the  autumn  fishing,  when  the  fish  rush  into  the  ^v'ide  river 
in  solid  blocks.  The  whole  place  then  is  given  over  to  the 
fishing  and  the  other  trades  that  fishing  calls  into  being  to 
support  it.  All  the  summer  the  steamers  coming  down  the 
river  are  crowded,  and  they  bring  great  cargoes  of  timber ; 
the  wharves  when  I  was  there  were  covered  yvith.  barrels 
and  packing-cases  containing,  according  to  Mr  Pauloff, 
"  only  air."  These  were  for  the  fish.  And  now,  when  the 
humble  mackerel  costs  me  at  least  ninepence  or  a  shilling, 
I  remember  vnth  longing  the  days  when  I  used  to  see  a  man 
like  a  Chinaman,  but  not  a  Chinaman,  a  bamboo  across  his 
shoulder,  and  from  each  end  a  great  fresh  salmon  slung,  a 
salmon  that  was  nearly  as  long  as  the  bearer,  and  I  could 
have  bought  the  two  for  ten  kopecks  ! 

He  that  will  not  when  he  may  ! 


184  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

But  great  as  the  trade  was  down  the  river,  most  eatables 
— ^groceries,  flour  and  such-like  things — came  from  Shanghai, 
and  the  ships  that  brought  them  took  back  wood  to  be  made 
into  furniture,  and  there  was,  when  I  was  there,  quite  a 
flourishing  trade  in  frozen  meat  with  Australia,  Nikolayeusk 
requiring  about  two  hundred  and  forty  thousand  pounds 
in  the  year.  In  winter,  of  course,  all  the  provisions  are 
frozen ;  the  milk  is  poured  into  basins,  a  stick  is  stuck  in  it 
and  it  freezes  round  it,  so  that  a  milk-seller  instead  of  having 
a  large  can  has  an  array  of  sticks  on  top  of  which  is  the  milk 
frozen  hard  as  a  stone.  Milk,  meat,  eggs,  all  provisions  are 
frozen  from  October  to  May. 

I  do  not  know  what  Nikolayeusk  is  doing  now  war  and 
revolution  have  reached  it.  At  least  they  have  brought  it 
into  touch  with  the  outer  world. 

And  having  got  so  far  I  looked  longingly  out  over  the 
harbour  and  wondered  whether  I  might  not  go  to  Saghalien. 

Mr  Pauloff  laughed  at  my  desires.  If  there  was  nothing 
to  see  in  Nikolayeusk,  there  was  less  than  nothing  in 
Saghalien.  It  was  dead.  It  never  had  been  much  and  the 
Japanese  invasion  had  killed  it.  Not  that  he  harboured 
any  animosity  against  the  Japanese.  Russians  and  Japanese, 
he  declared,  were  on  very  friendly  terms,  and  though  they 
invaded  Saghalien  they  did  not  disgrace  their  occupation 
by  any  atrocities.  The  Russian,  everybody  declared  in 
Nikolayeusk,  bridges  the  gulf  between  the  white  man  and 
the  yellow.  Russian  and  Chinese  peasants  will  work  side  by 
side  in  friendliest  fashion ;  they  will  occupy  the  same  boarding- 
houses  ;  the  Russian  woman  does  not  object  to  the  Chinese  as 
a  husband,  and  the  Russian  takes  a  Chinese  wife.  Of  course 
these  are  the  peasant  classes.  The  Russian  authorities  made 
very  definite  arrangements  for  keeping  out  Chinese  from 
Siberia,  as  I  saw  presently  when  I  went  back  up  the  river. 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  185 

But  the  more  I  thought  of  it  the  more  determined  I 
was  not  to  go  back  till  I  had  gone  as  far  east  as  I  possibly 
could  go.  The  Russian  Volunteer  fleet  I  found  called  at 
Alexandrovsk  regularly  during  the  months  the  sea  was 
open,  making  Nikolayeusk  its  most  northern  port  of  call. 
I  could  go  by  the  steamer  going  do^vn  and  be  picked  up  by 
the  one  coming  north.  It  would  give  me  a  couple  of  days 
in  the  island,  and  Mr  Pauloff  was  of  opinion  that  a  couple 
of  days  would  be  far  too  long. 

But  the  John  Cockerill  was  going  back  and  Buchanan  and 
I  must  find  another  roof  and  a  resting-place.  According  to 
the  inhabitants,  it  would  not  be  safe  to  sleep  in  the  streets, 
and  I  had  conceived  a  distinct  distaste  for  the  hotel.  But 
the  Erivan  lay  in  the  stream  and  to  that  we  transferred 
ourselves  and  our  belongings,  where  the  mate  spoke  English 
with  a  strong  Glasgow  accent  and  the  steward  had  a  smatter- 
ing. It  was  only  a  smattering,  however.  I  had  had  a  very 
early  lunch  and  no  afternoon  tea,  so  when  I  got  on  board 
at  six  in  the  evening  I  was  decidedly  hungry  and  demanded 
food,  or  rather  when  food  might  be  expected.  The  steward 
was  in  a  dilemma.  It  was  distinctly  too  early  for  dinner, 
he  considered,  and  too  late  for  tea.    He  scratched  his  head. 

"  Lunch  !  "  said  he  triumphantly,  and  ushered  me  into 
the  saloon,  where  hung  large  photographs  of  the  Tsar,  the 
Tsarina  and  the  good-looking  little  Tsarevitch.  In  the 
corner  was  an  ikon,  St  Nicolas,  I  think,  who  protects  sailors. 
And  there  at  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  I  meekly  sat  down 
to  luncheon  all  by  myself. 

Lying  there  I  had  a  lovely  view  of  the  town.  At  night, 
like  Vladivostok,  it  lay  like  a  ring  of  diamonds  along  the 
shore  of  the  river ;  and  in  the  daytime  the  softly  rounded 
green  hills,  the  grey-blue  sky  and  the  grey-blue  sea  with 
the  little  white  wavelets,  and  the  little  town  just  a  line 


186  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

between  the  green  and  the  blue,  with  the  spires  and  domes 
of  the  churches  and  other  pubHc  buildings,  green  and  blue 
and  red  and  white,  made  a  view  that  was  worth  coming  so 
far  to  see.  There  were  ships  in  the  bay  too — not  very  big 
ships  ;  but  a  ship  always  has  an  attraction :  it  has  come  from 
the  unknown ;  it  is  about  to  go  into  the  unknown — and  as 
I  sat  on  deck  there  came  to  me  the  mate  with  the  Scots 
accent  and  explained  all  about  the  ships  in  sight. 

The  place  was  a  fort  and  they  were  going  to  make  it  a  great 
harbour,  to  fill  it  up  till  the  great  ships  should  lie  along  the 
shore.  It  will  take  a  good  time,  for  we  lay  a  long  way  out, 
but  he  never  doubted  the  possibility;  and  meantime  the 
goods  come  to  the  ships  in  the  lighters  in  which  they  have 
already  come  down  the  river,  and  they  are  worked  by 
labourers  getting,  according  to  the  mate,  twelve  sliillings 
a  day. 

"  Dey  carry  near  as  much  as  we  do,"  said  he. 

Then  there  were  other  ships :  a  ship  for  fish,  summer  fish, 
for  Japan,  sealers  for  the  rookeries,  and  ships  loading  timber 
for  Kamscatkha.  I  thought  I  would  like  to  emulate  my 
brother  and  go  there,  and  the  Russky  mate  thought  it  would 
be  quite  possible,  only  very  uncomfortable.  It  would  take 
three  months,  said  he,  and  it  was  rather  late  in  the  season 
now.  Besides,  these  ships  load  themselves  so  with  timber 
that  there  is  only  a  naiTOw  space  on  deck  to  walk  on,  and 
they  are  packed  with  passengers,  mostly  labourers,  going  up 
for  the  short  summer  season. 

My  old  trouble,  want  of  air,  followed  me  on  board  the 
Erivan.  On  deck  it  was  cool,  at  night  the  thermometer 
registered  about  55°  Fahrenheit,  but  in  my  cabin  Buchanan 
and  I  gasped  with  the  thermometer  at  over  90°,  and  that 
with  the  port,  a  very  small  one,  open.  That  stuffiness  was 
horrible.    The  bathroom  looked  like  a  boiler  with  a  tight- 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  187 

fitting  iron  door  right  amidships,  and  having  looked  at  it 
I  had  not  the  courage  to  shut  myself  in  and  take  a  bath. 
It  seemed  as  if  it  would  be  burying  myself  alive.  As  it  was, 
sleep  down  below  I  could  not,  and  I  used  to  steal  up  on  deck 
and  with  plenty  of  rugs  and  cushions  lay  myself  out  along 
the  seats  and  sleep  in  the  fresh  air ;  but  a  seat  really  does 
leave  something  to  be  desired  in  the  way  of  luxury. 

But  the  early  mornings  were  delightful.  The  first  faint 
light  showed  a  mist  hanging  over  the  green  hills  marking 
out  their  outlines,  green  and  blue  and  grey ;  then  it  was  all 
grey  mist ;  but  to  the  east  was  the  crimson  of  the  dawn,  and 
we  left  our  moorings  early  one  morning  and  steamed  into 
that  crimson.  The  sun  rose  among  silver  and  grey  clouds, 
and  rose  again  and  again  as  we  passed  along  the  river  and 
the  mountains  hid  him  from  sight.  There  were  long  streaks 
of  silver  on  the  broad  river ;  slowly  the  fir-clad  liills  emerged 
from  the  mist  and  the  air  was  moist  and  fragrant ;  the  scent 
of  the  sea  and  the  fragrance  of  the  pines  was  in  it.  A 
delicious,  delicate  northern  sunrise  it  was ;  never  before  or 
since  have  I  seen  such  a  sunrise.  Never  again  can  I  possibly 
see  one  more  beautiful. 

And  the  great  river  widened.  There  were  little  settle- 
ments, the  five-pointed  tents  of  the  Russian  soldiers  and 
many  places  for  catching  fish.  No  wonder  the  fish — fish 
is  always  salmon  here — like  this  great  wide  river.  The 
bro^vnish  water  flowed  on  swiftly  and  the  morning  wind 
whipped  it  into  never-ending  ripples  that  caught  the  sun- 
light. A  wonderful  river !  A  delightful  river !  I  have 
grown  enthusiastic  over  many  rivers.  I  know  the  Murray 
in  my  own  land  and  the  great  rivers  of  tropical  Africa,  the 
Congo,  the  Gambia,  the  Yolta,  grand  and  lovely  all  of  them. 
I  felt  I  had  looked  upon  the  glory  of  the  Lord  when  I  had 
looked  upon  them,  but  there  was  something  in  the  tender 


188  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

beauty  of  the  Amur,  the  summer  beauty  veiled  in  mist,  the 
beauty  that  would  last  so  short  a  time,  that  was  best  of  all. 

Meanwhile  the  passengers  and  officers  of  the  Erivan  were 
much  exercised  in  their  minds  over  me.  What  could  an 
Englishwoman  want  in  Saghalien  ?  To  my  surprise  I 
found  that  none  had  ever  stayed  there  before,  though  it  was 
on  record  that  one  had  once  landed  there  from  a  steamer. 
The  mate  was  scathing  in  his  remarks. 

"  Dere  are  skeeters,"  said  he,  "  big  ones,  I  hear,"  and 
he  rolled  his  "  r's  "  like  a  true  Scotsman. 

"  But  where  can  I  stay  ?  "    He  shook  his  head. 

*'  In  de  hotel  you  cannot  stay.  It  is  impossible."  That 
I  could  quite  believe,  but  all  the  same,  if  the  hotel  was 
impossible,  where  could  I  stay  ? 

However,  here  I  was,  and  I  did  not  intend  to  go  back 
to  Vladivostok  by  sea.  At  Alexandrosvk,  the  town  of 
Saghalien,  I  proposed  to  land  and  I  felt  it  was  no  good 
worrying  till  I  got  there. 

We  entered  De  Castries  Bay  in  a  soft  grey  mist,  a  mist 
that  veiled  the  mountains  behind.  Then  the  mist  lifted 
and  showed  us  the  string  of  islands  that  guard  the  mouth 
of  the  bay,  strung  in  a  line  like  jewels  set  in  the  sea,  and  the 
hills  on  them  were  all  crowned  with  firs ;  and  then  the  mist 
dropped  again,  veiling  all  things. 

It  was  a  lonely  place,  where  I,  being  a  foreigner,  was  not 
allowed  to  land,  and  we  did  not  go  close  up  to  the  shore,  but 
the  shore  came  to  us  in  great  white  whale-boats.  Many 
peasants  and  soldiers  got  off  here,  and  I  saw  saws  and  spades 
in  the  bundles,  the  bundles  of  emigrants.  There  were  a  few 
women  amongst  them,  women  with  hard,  elemental  faces, 
so  different  from  the  Chinese,  that  were  vacuous  and  refined. 
I  remembered  the  women  who  had  listened  to  the  lecturer  at 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  189 

Fen  Chou  Fu  and  I  drew  a  long  sigh  of  relief.  It  was  re- 
freshing to  look  at  those  big-hipped  women,  with  their  broad, 
strong  feet  and  their  broad,  strong  hands  and  the  little  dirty 
kerchiefs  over  their  heads.  Elemental,  rough,  rude,  but  I 
was  glad  of  them.  One  was  suckling  a  child  in  the  boat, 
calmly,  as  if  it  were  the  most  natural  thing  to  do,  and  some- 
how it  was  good  to  see  it.     The  beginning  of  life. 

The  morning  brought  a  dense  mist,  and  as  it  cleared  away 
it  showed  us  a  sparkling,  smooth  sea,  grepsh-blue  like  the 
skies  above  it,  and  a  little  wooden  towTi  nestling  against  fir- 
clad  hills.  We  had  arrived  at  Alexandrosvk  and  I  wondered 
what  would  become  of  me. 

And  then  once  again  I  learned  what  a  kind  place  is  this  old 
world  of  ours  that  we  abuse  so  often.  I  had  gone  on  board 
that  steamer  without  any  introduction  whatever,  with  only 
my  passport  to  show  that  I  was  a  respectable  member  of 
society.  1  knew  nobody  and  saw  no  reason  whatever 
why  anyone  should  trouble  themselves  about  me.  But  we 
carried  distinguished  passengers  on  board  the  Erivan.  There 
was  the  Vice-Governor  of  Saghalien,  his  wife  and  son,  with 
the  soldiers  in  attendance,  and  a  good-looking  young  fellow 
with  short-cropped  hair  and  dreamy  eyes  who  was  the 
Assistant  Chief  of  Police  of  the  island,  and  this  man,  by 
command  of  the  Governor,  took  me  in  charge. 

Never  again  shall  I  hear  of  the  Russian  police  without 
thinking  of  the  deep  debt  of  gratitude  that  I  owe  to  Vladimir 
Merokushoff  of  Saghalien. 

I  do  not  think  as  a  rule  that  people  land  from  steamers  at 
Alexandrosvk  on  to  red  tapestry  carpets  under  fluttering 
bmiting  to  the  strains  of  a  band.  But  we  did  ;  and  the  Chief 
of  Police — he  spoke  no  language  but  Russian — motioned  me 
to  wait  a  moment,  and  when  the  Governor  had  been  safely 


190  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

despatched  to  his  home  he  appeared  on  the  scene  with  a 
victoria  and  drove  me  and  Buchanan  to  the  pohce  station,  a 
charming  little  one-storeyed  building  buried  in  greenery,  and 
there  he  established  us.  Buchanan  he  appreciated  as  a  dog 
likes  to  be  appreciated,  and  he  gave  up  to  me  his  own  bed- 
room, where  the  top  pane  of  the  window  had  actually  been 
made  to  open.  His  sitting-room  was  a  very  bower  of  gi'ow- 
ing  plants,  and  when  I  went  to  bed  that  night  he  brought  his 
elderly  working  housekeeper,  a  plain-faced  woman  whom  he 
called  "  Stera,"  and  made  her  bring  her  bed  and  lay  it  across 
my  door,  which  opened  into  the  sitting-room.  It  was  no 
good  my  protesting  ;  there  she  had  to  sleep.  Poor  old  thing, 
she  must  have  been  glad  my  stay  was  not  long.  Every  day 
she  wore  a  blue  skirt  and  a  drab-coloured  blouse,  unbelted, 
and  her  grey  hair  twisted  up  into  an  untidy  knot  behind,  but 
she  was  an  excellent  cook.  That  young  man  got  himself 
into  his  everyday  hoUand  summer  coat  and  to  entertain  me 
proceeded  to  lay  in  enough  provisions  to  supply  a  hungry 
school.  He  showed  me  the  things  first  to  sec  if  I  liked  them, 
as  if  I  wouldn't  have  liked  shark  M'hen  people  were  so  kind. 
But  as  a  matter  of  fact  everything  was  very  good.  He 
produced  a  large  tin  of  crawling  crayfish,  and  when  I  had 
expressed  not  only  my  approval  but  my  delight,  they  ap- 
peared deliciously  red  and  white  for  dimier,  and  then  I  found 
they  were  only  sakouska — that  is,  the  hors  d'ceuvre  that  the 
Russians  take  to  whet  their  appetites.  I  have  often  lived 
well,  but  never  better  than  when  I,  a  stranger  and  a  sojourner, 
was  taken  in  charge  by  the  hospitable  Russian  police,  who 
would  not  let  me  pay  one  penny  for  my  board  and  lodging. 
We  fed  all  day  long.  I  had  only  to  come  in  for  a  bottle  of 
wine  or  beer  to  be  produced.  I  was  given  a  gens  d'arrne  to 
carry  my  camera  and  another  to  take  care  of  Buchanan. 
Never  suiely  was  stranger  so  well  done  as  I  by  hospitable 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  191 

Saghalien.  The  policeman  made  me  understand  he  was  an 
author  and  presented  me  with  a  couple  of  pamphlets  he  had 
written  on  Saghalien  and  its  inhabitants,  but  though  I 
treasure  them  I  cannot  read  them.  Then  the  Japanese 
photographer  was  sent  for  and  he  and  I  were  taken  sitting 
side  by  side  on  the  bench  in  his  leafy  porch,  and,  to  cro^vn  all, 
because  I  could  speak  no  Russian,  he  sent  for  two  girls  who 
had  been  educated  in  Japan  and  who  spoke  English  almost 
as  well  as  I  did  myself,  though  they  had  never  before  spoken 
to  an  Englishwoman.  Marie  and  Lariss  Borodin  were  they, 
and  their  father  kept  the  principal  store  in  Alexandrosvk. 
They  were  dainty,  pretty,  dark-eyed  girls  and  they  were  a 
godsend  to  me.  They  had  a  tea  in  my  honour  and  intro- 
duced me  to  the  manager  of  the  coal  mine  of  Saghalien  and 
took  care  I  should  have  all  the  information  about  the  island 
it  was  in  their  power  to  supply. 

There  were  then  about  five  thousand  people  there,  one 
thousand  in  Alexandrosvk  itself,  but  they  were  going  daily, 
for  the  blight  of  the  convict  was  over  the  beautiful  land. 
The  best  coal  mine  is  closed  down  on  fire  and  the  one  whose 
manager  I  met  was  leased  to  a  company  by  the  year  and 
worked  by  Chinese  on  most  primitive  lines.  There  is  gold, 
he  told  me,  this  business  man  who  surprised  me  by  his  lavish 
use  of  perfume,  but  he  did  not  know  whether  it  would  pay 
for  working — gold  and  coal  as  well  would  be  almost  too 
much  good  luck  for  one  island — and  there  is  naphtha  every- 
where on  the  east  coast,  but  as  it  has  never  been  struck  they 
think  that  the  main  vein  must  come  up  somewhere  under 
the  sea.  Still  it  is  there  waiting  for  the  enterprising  man 
who  shall  work  it. 

Saghalien  used  to  be  as  bad  as  Nikolayeusk,  they  told  me, 
after  the  Japanese  had  evacuated  the  northern  part ;  but 
now  the  most   enterprising   section   of  the  convicts   had 


192  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

betaken  themselves  to  the  mainland,  and  though  the  free 
settlers  were  few  and  far  between,  and  the  most  of  the  people 
I  saw  were  convicts,  they  were  the  harmless  ones  with  all 
the  devihnent  gone  out  of  them. 

Alexandrosvk  is  a  place  of  empty  houses.  When  the 
Japanese  came  the  people  fled,  leaving  everything  exactly  as 
it  was ;  and  though  the  Japanese  behaved  with  admirable 
restraint,  considering  they  came  as  an  invading  army,  many 
of  these  people  never  came  back  again,  and  the  alertness  in 
a  bad  cause  which  had  sent  many  of  the  convicts  there 
against  their  will  sent  them  away  again  as  soon  as  they  were 
free.  All  down  by  the  long  wooden  pier  which  stretches 
out  into  the  sea  are  great  wooden  storehouses  and  barracks, 
empty,  and  a  monument,  if  they  needed  it,  to  the  courteous 
manner  in  which  the  Japanese  make  war.  They  had  burnt 
the  museum,  they  told  me,  and  opened  the  prison  doors  and 
burnt  the  prison,  but  the  other  houses  they  had  spared.  And 
so  there  were  many,  many  empty  houses  in  Alexandrosvk. 

All  the  oldest  carriages  in  the  world  have  drifted  to  Sagha- 
lien.  They  are  decrepit  in  Western  Siberia,  they  are  worse, 
if  possible,  in  the  East,  but  in  the  island  of  Saghalien  I  really 
don't  know  how  they  hold  together.  Perhaps  they  are  not 
wanted  very  often.  I  hired  the  most  archaic  victoria  I  have 
ever  seen  and  the  two  girls  came  for  a  drive  with  me  all  round 
the  town  and  its  neighbourhood.  It  was  a  drive  to  be 
remembered.  The  early  summer  was  in  all  its  full  freshness, 
the  red  and  white  cows  stood  knee-deep  in  grass  that  was 
green  and  lush  everywhere.  There  were  fir-trees  on  the  hills 
and  on  every  spur  of  the  hills,  and  there  were  hedges  with 
dog-roses  blossoming  all  over  them ;  there  were  fields  of 
dark  blue  iris  ;  there  were  little  red  tiger  lilies  and  a  spiked 
heliotrope  flower  like  veronica,  only  each  bloom  gi*ew  on  a 
single  stalk  of  its  own  j  there  were  purple  vetches  and  white 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  193 

spiraea  growing  in  mai-shy  places,  and  the  land  was  thick  with 
sweet-scented  clover  among  which  the  bees  were  humming, 
and  in  a  little  village  there  was  a  Greek  church  that,  set  in  its 
emerald-green  field,  was  a  very  riot  of  colour.  There  were 
balls  on  the  roof  of  royal  blue,  the  roof  itself  was  of  pale  green, 
the  walls  were  of  brown  logs  untouched  by  paint  and  the 
window  edges  were  picked  out  in  white.  I  photographed  that 
picturesque  little  church,  as  I  did  the  peasant  women  stand- 
ing at  the  doors  of  their  log  huts  and  the  queer  old  shandiy- 
dan  in  which  we  drove,  but  alas  !  all  my  photographs  perished 
miserably  in  Russia.  The  girls  wondered  that  I  liked  town 
and  country  so  much,  that  I  saw  so  much  beai|ty  in  every- 
thing. 

"  Ah  !  Madame,"  they  sighed,  "  but  you  can  go  away  to- 
morrow !     If  only  we  could  go  !  " 

They  had  been  educated  at  a  convent  and  they  produced 
the  English  books  they  had  read.  They  were  very  apologetic 
but  they  had  found  them  rather  tame.  Had  I  read  them  ? 
I  smiled,  for  they  all  turned  out  to  be  the  immortal  works 
of  Charles  Garvice  ! 

And  we  had  tea  in  the  dining-room,  where  father  slept 
because  they  were  rather  crowded,  the  store  took  up  so 
much  room ;  and  it  was  a  very  nice  tea  too,  with  raspberry 
jam  in  saucers,  which  we  ate  Russian  fashion  with  a  spoon, 
and  the  roses  in  the  garden  tapped  against  the  window-panes, 
asking  to  come  in  and  join  us,  and  Buchanan  got  what  his 
soul  loved,  plenty  of  cake.  They  apologised  because  there 
was  no  fruit.  No  fioiit  save  berries  ripen  in  Saghalien  and 
the  strawberries  would  not  be  ready  till  well  on  in  August. 
No  words  of  mine  can  tell  how  kind  they  were  to  the  stranger. 

I  went  back  in  the  long  twilight  that  was  so  cool  and 
restful  and  sat  outside  the  leafy  shaded  police  station  and 
killed  mosquitoes,  for  the  mate  had  heard  aright,  there  were 

N 


194  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

"  skeeters  "  and  to  spare,  the  sort  to  which  Mark  Twain 
took  a  gun.  I  watched  the  grey  mist  creeping  slowly  down, 
down  the  beautiful  mountains,  and  when  it  had  enveloped 
them  the  night  was  come  and  it  was  time  to  go  in  and  have 
dinner  and  go  to  bed. 

Perhaps  it  would  not  do  to  stay  long  in  Saghalien.  There 
is  nothing  to  do.  She  lies  a  Sleeping  Beauty  waiting  the 
kiss  of  the  Prince.  Will  this  war  awaken  her  ?  The  short 
time  I  was  there  I  enjoyed  every  moment. 

The  people  seemed  nondescript.  The  upper  class  were 
certainly  Russians,  and  all  the  men  wore  military  caps  and 
had  their  hair  clipped  so  close  it  looked  shaven,  but  it  would 
be  utterly  impossible  to  say  to  what  nationality  the  peasant 
belonged.  There  were  flaxen-haired  Russians  certainly, 
but  then  there  were  dark-bearded  men,  a  Mongolian  type, 
and  there  were  many  thrifty  Chinese  with  queues,  in 
belted  blouses  and  high  boots,  generally  keeping  little 
eating-shops.  There  may  have  been  Japanese,  probably 
there  were,  seeing  they  hold  the  lower  half  of  the  island,  but 
I  did  not  notice  them,  and  there  is,  I  am  afraid,  in  that 
place  which  is  so  full  of  possibilities  absolutely  nothing  for 
that  go-ahead  nation  to  do. 

My  pretty  girls  complained  dreadfully.  They  looked 
after  the  shop  and  then  there  was  nothing.  In  the  winter 
they  said  they  had  skating  and  they  liked  the  winter  best, 
but  the  really  bad  time  in  places  like  Saghalien  and  Niko- 
layeusk  were  the  two  months  when  it  was  neither  winter  nor 
summer.  Then  their  only  means  of  communication  with 
the  outside  world,  the  river  and  the  sea,  was  too  full  of  ice  to 
admit  of  navigation  and  yet  was  not  solid  enough  for  dog- 
sled,  so  that  if  the  telegraph  broke  down,  and  it  very  often 
did,  they  are  entirely  cut  off  from  the  world.  Saghalien,  of 
course,  is  worse  off  than  the  town,  for  on  the  mainland 


THE  ENDS  OF  THE  EARTH  195 

presumably  there  are  roads  of  sorts  that  can  be  negotiated 
in  case  of  necessity,  but  the  island  is  entirely  isolated. 
In  the  %N'inter  the  mails  take  five  days  coming  across  the 
frozen  sea  from  the  mainland,  and  often  when  there  are 
storms  they  take  much  longer.  Fancy  living  on  an  island 
that  stretches  over  nearly  ten  degi-ees  of  latitude,  which 
for  five  months  in  the  year  gets  its  mails  by  dog-sled 
and  for  two  goes  without  them  altogether  !  On  the  whole, 
there  may  be  drawbacks  to  living  in  Saghalien ! 

I  left  it  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  after  the  darkness 
had  fallen,  and  the  police  officer  and  the  pretty  girls  saw  me 
on  board  the  steamer  which  was  to  take  me  back  to  Niko- 
layeusk.  They  loaded  me  with  flowers  and  they  were  ftdl 
of  regrets. 

"  Oh,  Madame,  Madame,  how  lucky  you  are  to  get 
away  from  Saghalien  !  " 

But  I  said  truly  enough  that  I  felt  my  luck  lay  in  getting 
there.  And  now  that  I  sit  in  my  garden  in  Kent  and  watch 
the  beans  coming  into  blossom  and  the  roses  into  bloom,  look 
at  the  beds  gay  with  red  poppies  and  violas,  cream  and 
pm-ple,  or  wander  round  and  calculate  the  prospects  of  fruit 
on  the  cherry  and  the  pear  trees,  I  am  still  more  glad  to 
think  that  I  know  what  manner  of  island  that  is  that  lies  so 
far  away  in  the  Eastern  world  that  it  is  almost  West. 


CHAPTER  XII 

FACING  WEST 

On  the  25th  July  1914,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the  evening,  I  left 
Saghalien,  and  as  the  ship  steamed  away  from  the  loom  of 
the  land  into  the  night  I  knew  that  at  last,  after  eighteen 
months  of  voyaging  in  the  East,  I  had  turned  my  face  home- 
ward. I  had  enjoyed  it,  but  I  wanted  to  go  home,  and  in 
my  notebook  I  see  evidences  of  this  longing.  4^  last  I  was 
counting  the  days — one  day  to  Nikolayeusk,  tlu-ee  days  to 
ELharbarosvk,  thi*ee  days  more  to  Blagoveschensk — and  I  was 
out  in  my  calculations  in  the  very  beginning.  The  ships  of 
the  Volunteer  fleet  take  their  time,  and  we  took  tlu-ee  days 
wandering  along  the  island  of  Saghalien  and  calling  at  ports 
I  should  think  mail  steamer  had  never  before  called  at  before 
we  turned  again  towards  the  mainland. 

And  yet  in  a  way  it  was  interesting,  for  I  saw  some  of  the 
inhabitants  of  the  island,  the  aboriginal  inhabitants,  I  should 
never  have  othei-wise  seen.  Gilyaks  they  are,  and  the  water 
seems  their  element.  They  have  the  long  straight  black 
hair  of  the  Mongolian,  and  sometimes  they  were  clad  in  furs 
— ^ragged  and  old  and  worn,  the  very  last  remains  of  furs — 
sometimes  merely  in  dirty  clothes,  the  cast-offs  of  far-away 
nations. 

They  live  by  the  fish.    There  is  nothing  else. 

I  tried  hard  to  photograph  these  aborigines,  using  all  sorts 
of  guile  to  get  them  into  focus.  I  produced  cigarettes,  I 
offered  sugar,  but  as  soon  as  they  found  out  what  I  was  about 
they  at  once  fled,  even  though  their  boat  was  fastened 

196 


FACING  WEST  197 

against  the  gangway  and  it  meant  abandoning  somebody 
who  was  on  board.  I  did  eventually  get  some  photographs, 
but  they  shared  the  fate  of  the  rest  of  my  Russian  pictures, 
and  I  am  sorry,  for  I  do  not  suppose  I  shall  ever  again  have 
the  chance  of  photogi'apliing  the  Gilyak  in  his  native  haunts. 
He  belongs  to  a  dying  race,  they  told  me,  and  there  are  few 
children  amongst  them. 

And  though  we  lay  long  at  De  Castries  Bay  they  would 
not  let  me  take  pictures  there  at  all.  It  was  forbidden,  so  I 
was  reduced  to  doing  the  best  I  could  through  my  cabin  port. 
In  Alexandrosvk  the  police  officer  had  aided  and  abetted 
my  picture-making,  but  in  Nikolayeusk  it  was  a  forbidden 
pastime,  for  the  town,  for  purposes  of  photography,  was  a 
fort,  and  when  I  boarded  the  Kanavina  on  the  river,  the 
post  steamer  bound  for  Blagoveschensk,  I  met  vdth  more 
difficulties. 

There  was  on  board  a  Mrs  Marie  Skibitsky  and  her  hus- 
band, the  headmaster  of  the  Nikolayeusk  "  Real  "  School, 
and  she  spoke  very  good  English  and  was  a  kind  friend 
to  me.  Through  her  came  a  message  from  the  captain  to 
the  effect  that  though  he  did  not  mind  my  photographing 
himself,  it  was  forbidden  in  Russia,  and  he  begged  me  not 
to  do  it  when  anyone  was  looking  on.  That  made  it  pretty 
hopeless,  for  the  ship  was  crowded  and  there  was  always  not 
one  person  but  probably  a  score  of  people  taking  a  very 
great  interest.  The  captain  was  not  brass-bound  as  he  had 
been  in  the  John  Cockerill,  but  he  and  all  his  officers  were 
clad  in  khaki,  with  military  caps,  and  it  was  sometime  before 
I  realised  them  as  the  ship's  officers.  The  captain  looked  to 
me  like  a  depressed  corporal  who  was  having  difficulties  mth 
his  sergeant,  and  the  ship,  though  they  charged  us  three 
roubles  more  for  the  trip  to  Blagoveschensk  than  the  Anur 
Company  would  have  done,  was  dirty  and  ill-kept.    It  was 


198    ^  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

in  her  I  met  the  saloon  the  windows  of  which  would  not  open, 
and  the  water  in  my  cabin  had  gone  wrong,  and  when  I 
insisted  that  I  could  not  be  happy  till  I  had  some,  it  was 
brought  me  in  a  teapot !  They  never  struck  the  hours  on 
this  steamer  as  they  had  done  on  the  John  Cockerill,  and 
gone  was  the  excellent  cook,  and  the  food  consisted  largely 
of  meat,  of  which  I  am  bound  to  say  there  was  any  quantity. 

But  in  spite  of  all  drawbacks  the  ship  was  crowded ; 
there  were  many  officers  and  their  wives  on  board,  and 
there  were  many  officers  on  board  with  women  who  were 
not  their  wives.  These  last  were  so  demonstrative  that  I 
always  took  them  for  honeymoon  couples  till  at  last  a 
Cossack  officer  whom  I  met  farther  on  explained  : 

"  Not  wives.  Oh  no  !  It  is  always  so  !  It  is  just  the 
steamer  !  " 

Whether  these  little  iiTcgularities  were  to  be  set  down  to 
the  discomforts  of  the  steamer  or  to  the  seductive  air  of  the 
river,  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  I  struck  a  particularly  amor- 
ous company.  I  am  bound  to  say  no  one  but  me  appeared 
to  be  embarrassed.     It  seemed  to  be  all  in  the  day's  work. 

It  was  pleasant  going  up  the  river  again  and  having  beside 
me  one  who  could  explain  things  to  me.  Every  day  it  grew 
warmer,  for  not  only  was  the  short  northern  summer  reach- 
ing its  zenith,  but  we  were  now  going  south  again.  And  Mrs 
Skibitsky  sat  beside  me  and  rubbed  up  her  English  and 
told  me  how  in  two  years'  time  she  proposed  to  bring  her 
daughters  to  England  to  give  them  an  English  education, 
and  I  promised  to  look  out  for  her  and  show  her  the  ropes 
and  how  she  could  best  manage  in  London.  In  two  years' 
time  !  And  we  neither  of  us  knew  that  we  were  on  the 
threshold  of  the  greatest  war  in  the  world's  history. 

I  took  the  breaking  out  of  that  war  so  calmly. 

We  arrived  at  Kharbarosvk.     I  parted  from  Mrs  Skibitsky, 


FACING  WEST  199 

who  was  going  to  Madivostok,  and  next  day  I  looked  up 
my  friend  the  colonel's  wife  with  whom  I  had  travelled  on 
the  John  Cockerill.  She  received  me  with  open  arms,  but 
the  household  cat  flew  and  spat  and  stated  in  no  measured 
terms  what  she  thought  of  Buchanan.  The  lady  caught  the 
cat  before  I  realised  what  was  happening  and  in  a  moment 
she  had  scored  with  her  talons  great  red  lines  that  spouted 
blood  on  her  mistress's  arms.  She  looked  at  them  calmly, 
went  into  the  kitchen,  rubbed  butter  on  her  wounds  and 
came  back  smiling  as  if  nothing  in  the  world  had  happened. 
But  it  was  not  nothing.  I  admired  her  extremely  for  a 
very  brave  woman.  Presently  her  husband  came  in  and  she 
just  drew  down  her  sleeves  to  cover  her  torn  arms  and  said 
not  a  word  to  him.  He  was  talking  earnestly  and  presently 
she  said  to  me  : 

"  There  is  war  !  " 

I  thought  she  meant  between  Buchanan  and  the  cat  and 
I  smiled  feebly,  because  I  was  very  much  ashamed  of  the 
trouble  I  and  my  dog  had  caused,  but  she  said  again  : 

"  There  is  war  !     Between  Austria  and  Serbia  !  " 

It  did  not  seem  to  concern  me.  I  don't  know  that  I  had 
ever  realised  Serbia  as  a  distinct  nationality  at  all  before, 
and  she  knew  so  little  English  and  I  knew  no  Russian  at  all, 
so  that  we  were  not  able  to  discuss  the  matter  much,  though 
it  was  evident  that  the  colonel  was  very  much  excited.  That, 
I  thought,  might  be  natural.  He  was  a  soldier.  War  was 
his  business,  thougli  here,  I  think,  he  w^as  engaged  in  training 
boys. 

After  the  midday  meal — dijeuner,  I  think  we  called  it — she 
and  I  went  for  a  walk,  and  presently  down  the  wide  streets 
of  Kharbarosvk  came  a  little  procession  of  four  led  by  a 
wooden-legged  man  bearing  a  Russian  naval  flag,  the  blue 
St  Andrew's  Cross  on  a  white  ground.     I  looked  at  them. 


200  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

They  meant  nothing  to  me  in  that  great,  empty  street  where 
the  new  Httle  trees  were  just  beginning  to  take  root  and 
the  new  red-brick  post  office  dominated  all  minor  buildings 
among  many  empty  spaces. 

"  They  want  war  !  They  ask  for  war  !  "  said  my  friend. 
I  was  witnessing  my  first  demonstration  against  Germany  ! 
And  I  thought  no  more  of  it  than  I  do  of  the  children 
playing  in  the  streets  of  this  Kentish  village  ! 

She  saw  me  on  to  the  steamer  and  bade  me  farewell,  and 
then  my  troubles  began.  Not  a  single  person  on  that  steamer 
spoke  English.  However,  I  had  always  found  the  Russians 
so  kind  that  the  fact  that  we  could  not  understand  one 
another  when  the  going  was  straight  did  not  seem  to  matter 
very  much.  But  I  had  not  reckoned  with  the  Russians  at 
war. 

At  Kharbarosvk  the  river  forms  the  Chinese-Russian 
boundary  and  a  little  beyond  it  reaches  its  most  southern 
point,  about  lat.  48°.  But  the  China  that  was  on  our  left 
was  not  the  China  that  I  knew.  This  was  Manchuria,  gi'een 
and  fresh  as  Siberia  itself,  and  though  there  was  little  or  no 
agriculture  beyond  perhaps  a  patch  of  vegetables  here  and 
there,  on  both  sides  of  the  broad  river  was  a  lovely  land  of 
hills  and  lush  grass  and  trees.  Here  were  firs  and  pines 
and  cedars,  whose  sombreness  contrasted  with  the  limes  and 
elms,  the  poplars  and  dainty  birches  with  which  they  were 
interspersed.  The  Russian  towns  were  small,  the  merest 
villages,  with  here  and  there  a  church  with  the  painted 
ball-like  domes  they  affect,  and  though  the  houses  were  of 
unpainted  logs,  always  the  windows  and  doors  were  painted 
white. 

And  at  every  little  town  were  great  piles  of  wood  waiting 
for  the  steamer,  and  whenever  we  stopped  men  hastily  set 
to  work  bringing  in  loads  of  wood  to  replace  that  which  we 


FACING  WEST  201 

had  burnt.  And  we  burnt  lavishly.  Even  the  magnificent 
forests  of  Siberia  ^\^ll  not  stand  this  drain  on  them  long. 

The  other  day  when  the  National  Service  papers  came 
round  one  was  sent  to  a  dear  old  "  Sister  "  who  for  nearly  all 
her  lilVi  has  been  working  for  the  Church  in  an  outlying 
district  of  London.  She  is  past  work  now,  but  she  can  still 
go  and  talk  to  the  old  and  sick  and  perhaps  give  advice 
about  the  babies,  but  that  is  about  the  extent  of  her  powers. 
She  looked  at  the  paper  and  as  in  duty  bound  filled  it  in, 
giving  her  age  as  seventy.  A\Tiat  was  her  surprise  then  to 
receive  promptly  from  the  Department  a  suggestion  that  she 
should  volunteer  for  service  on  the  land,  and  offering  her,  by 
way  of  inducement,  good  wages,  a  becoming  hat  and  high 
boots !  That  branch  of  the  Department  has  evidently 
become  rather  mechanical.  Now  the  Russians  all  the  way 
from  Saghalien  to  Petrograd  treated  me  with  such  unfailing 
kindness  that  I  was  in  danger  of  wi-iting  of  them  in  the 
stereotj-ped  fashion  in  which  the  National  Service  Depart- 
ment sent  out  its  papers.  Luckily  they  themselves  saved 
me  from  such  an  error.  There  were  three  memorable,  never- 
to-be-forgotten  days  when  the  Russians  did  not  treat  me 
with  kindness. 

Tlie  warmest  and  pleasantest  days  of  my  trip  on  the  Amur 
we  went  through  lovely  scenery :  the  river  was  very  wide, 
the  blue  sky  was  reflected  in  its  blue  waters  and  the  green, 
tree-clad  hills  on  either  side  opened  out  and  showed  beyond 
mountams  in  the  distance,  pmple  and  blue  and  alluring. 
It  was  the  height  of  summer-time,  summer  at  its  best,  a 
green,  moist  summer.  We  hugged  the  Russian  bank,  and 
the  Manchurian  bank  seemed  very  far  away,  only  it  was 
possible  to  see  that  wherever  the  Russians  had  planted  a 
little  town  on  the  other  side  was  a  Chinese  town  much  bigger. 
The  Russian  were  very  little  towns,  and  all  the  inhabitants. 


202  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

it  seemed,  turned  out  to  meet  us,  who  were  their  only  link 
with  the  outside  world. 

The  minute  the  steamer  came  close  enough  ropes  were 
flung  ashore  to  moor  it,  and  a  gangway  was  run  out  very 
often — and  it  was  an  anxious  moment  for  me  with  Buchanan 
standing  on  the  end,  for  he  was  always  the  first  to  put  dainty 
little  paws  on  the  gangway,  and  there  he  stood  wliile  it 
swayed  this  way  and  that  before  it  could  make  up  its  mind 
where  to  finally  settle  down.  Then  there  was  a  rush,  and  a 
stream  of  people  going  ashore  for  exercise  passed  a  stream 
of  people  coming  on  board  to  sell  goods.  Always  these  took 
the  form  of  eatables.  Butter,  bread,  meat,  milk,  berries 
they  had  for  sale,  and  the  third  and  fourth  class  passengers 
bought  eagerly. 

I  followed  Buchanan  ashore,  but  I  seldom  bought  anything 
unless  the  berries  tempted  me.  Tliere  were  strawberries,  rasp- 
berries and  a  blue  berry  which  sometimes  was  very  sweet 
and  pleasant. 

At  first  the  people  had  been  very  kind  and  taken  a  great 
deal  of  interest  in  the  stranger  and  her  pretty  little  dog,  but 
after  we  left  Kharbarosvk  and  I  had  no  one  to  appeal  to 
a  marked  change  came  over  things.  If  I  wanted  to  take  a 
photograph,  merely  a  photograph  of  the  steamer  lying  against 
the  bank,  my  camera  was  rudely  snatched  away  and  I  was 
given  to  understand  in  a  manner  that  did  not  require  me  to 
know  Russian  that  if  I  did  that  again  it  would  be  worse  for 
me.  Poor  little  Buchanan  was  kicked  and  chunks  of  wood^ 
were  flung  at  him.  As  I  passed  along  the  lower  decks  to 
and  from  the  steamer  I  was  rudely  hustled,  and  on  shore  not 
only  did  the  people  crowd  around  me  in  a  hostile  manner,  but 
to  my  disgUvSt  they  spat  upon  me. 

I  could  not  understand  the  change,  for  even  in  the  first- 
class  saloon  the  people  looked  at  me  askance.    And  I  had 


FACING  WEST  208 

ten  days  of  the  river  before  I  reached  Stretensk,  where  I 
was  to  join  the  train.  It  is  terrible  to  be  alone  among 
hostile  people,  and  I  kept  Buchanan  close  beside  me  for 
company  and  because  I  did  not  know  what  might  happen 
to  him.  If  this  had  been  China  I  should  not  have  been 
surprised,  but  Russia,  that  had  always  been  so  friendly. 
I  was  mightily  troubled. 

And  then  came  the  explanation,  the  very  simple  ex- 
planation. 

Just  as  the  river  narrowed  between  the  hills  and  looked 
more  like  a  river,  and  turned  north,  there  came  on  board  at 
a  tiny  wayside  town  a  tall  yoimg  Cossack  officer,  a  sotnik 
of  Cossacks,  he  called  himself.  He  wore  a  khaki  jacket  and 
cap,  and  dark  blue  breeches  and  riding-boots.  He  had  a 
great  scar  across  his  forehead,  caused  by  a  Chinese  sword, 
and  he  had  pleasant  blue  eyes  and  a  row  of  nice  white 
teeth.  He  was  tall  and  goodly  to  look  upon,  and  as  I  sat  at 
afternoon  tea  at  a  little  table  on  deck  he  came  swaggering 
along  the  deck  and  stood  before  me  with  one  hand  on  a 
deck-chair. 

"  Madame,  is  it  permitted  ?  "   he  asked  in  French. 

Of  course  Madame  permitted  and  called  for  another  glass 
and  offered  him  some  of  her  tea  and  cake.  Possibly  he  had 
plenty  of  his  own,  but  no  matter,  it  was  good  to  entertain 
someone  in  friendly  fashion  again  after  being  an  outcast  for 
three  days.  And  it  took  a  little  while  to  find  out  what  was 
wrong,  he  was  so  very  polite. 

"  Madame  understands  we  are  at  war  ?  " 

Madame  opened  her  eyes  in  astonishment.  What  could  a 
war  in  the  Balkan  Provinces  have  to  do  with  her  treatment 
on  the  Amur  river  thousands  of  miles  in  the  East  ? 

However,  she  said  she  did. 

"  And  Madame  knows "    He  paused,  and  then  very 


204  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

kindly  abandoned  his  people.  "  Madame  sees  the  people 
are  bad  ?  " 

Madame  quite  agreed.  They  were  bad.  I  had  quite  an 
appetite  for  my  tea  now  that  this  nice  young  man  was 
sympathising  with  me  on  the  abominable  behaviour  of  his 
countrymen. 

He  spread  out  his  hands  as  if  deprecating  the  opinion  of 
such  foolish  people.  "  They  think — on  the  ship — and  on 
the  shore — ^that  Madame  is  a  GERMAN  !  " 

So  it  was  out,  and  it  took  me  a  moment  to  realise  it,  so 
little  had  I  realised  the  war. 

"  A  German  !  "  I  did  not  put  it  in  capital  letters  as  he 
had  done.    I  had  not  yet  learned  to  hate  the  Germans. 

"  A— spy  !  " 

"  Oh,  good  gracious !  "  And  then  I  flew  for  my  pass- 
ports. 

In  vain  that  young  man  protested  it  was  not  necessary. 
He  had  felt  sure  from  the  moment  he  set  eyes  upon  her  that 
Madame  was  no  German.  He  had  told  the  captain — so  the 
depressed  corporal  had  been  taking  an  interest  in  me — she 
might  be  French,  or  even  from  the  noith  of  Spain,  but  cer- 
tainly not  German.  But  I  insisted  on  his  looking  at  my 
passports  and  being  in  a  position  to  swear  that  I  was  British, 
and  from  that  moment  we  were  friends  and  he  constituted 
himself  my  champion. 

"  The  people  are  bad,"  he  told  me.  "  Madame,  they  are 
angry  and  they  are  bad.  They  may  harm  you.  Here  I  go 
ashore  with  you ;  at  Blagoveschensk  you  get  a  protection 
order  from  the  Governor  written  in  Russian  so  that  some- 
body may  read." 

Then  he  told  me  about  the  war.  Russia  and  France  were 
fighting  Germany.  He  had  come  from  Tsitsihar,  on  the 
Mongolian  border,  across  Manchuria,  and  before  that  he  had 


•       FACING  WEST  205 

come  from  Kodbo,  right  in  the  heart  of  the  great  Western 
Mongolian  mountains,  and  he  was  going  as  fast  as  he  could 
to  Chita,  and  thence  he  supposed  to  the  front. 

"  C'est  gai  a  la  guerre,  Madame,  c'est  gai !  "  I  hope  so. 
I  earnestly  hope  he  found  it  so,  for  he  was  a  good  fellow  and 
awfully  good  to  me. 

He  was  a  little  disquieting  too,  for  now  it  dawned  upon 
me  it  would  be  impossible  to  go  back  through  Germany 
with  Germany  at  war  with  Russia,  and  my  friend  was  equally 
sure  it  would  be  almost  impossible  to  go  by  way  of  St 
Petersburg,  as  we  called  Petrograd  then.  Anyhow  we  were 
still  in  the  Anur  Province,  in  Eastern  Siberia,  so  I  did  not 
worry  much.  Now  that  the  people  were  friendly  once  more 
it  all  seemed  so  far  away,  and  whenever  we  went  ashore  my 
Cossack  friend  explained  matters. 

But  he  was  a  little  troubled. 

"  Madame,  why  does  not  England  come  in  ?  "  he  asked 
again  and  again,  and  I,  who  had  seen  no  papers  since  I  left 
Tientsin,  and  only  The  NoHh  China  Herald  then,  could  not 
imagine  what  England  had  to  do  with  it.  The  idea  of  a 
world  war  was  out  of  the  question. 

It  was  more  interesting  now  going  up  the  beautiful  river, 
narrowed  till  it  really  did  look  like  a  river.  I  could  see 
both  banks  quite  plainly.  My  friend  had  been  stationed 
here  a  year  or  tvvo  before,  and  he  told  me  that  there  were 
many  tigers  in  the  woods,  and  wild  boar  and  bear,  but  not 
very  many  wolves.  Aid  the  tigers  were  beautiful  and  fierce 
and  dangerous,  northern  tigers  that  could  stand  the  rigoms 
of  the  winter,  and  they  did  not  wait  to  be  attacked,  they 
attacked  you.  There  was  a  German  professor  in  Blago- 
veschensk  a  year  or  two  ago  who  had  gone  out  butterfly- 
hunting,  wliich  one  would  think  was  a  harmless  and  safe 
enough  pastime  to  satisfy  even  a  conscientious  objector, 


206  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

and  a  tiger  had  got  on  his  tracks  and  eaten  him  incontinently. 
They  found  only  his  butterfly  net  and  the  buttons  of  his 
coat  when  they  went  in  search  of  him. 

The  plague  had  broken  out  during  this  officer's  stay  on  the 
river,  and  the  authorities  had  drawn  a  cordon  of  Cossacks 
round  to  keep  the  terrified,  plague-stricken  people  from  flee- 
ing and  spreading  the  disease  yet  farther,  and  he  pointed  out 
to  me  the  house  in  which  he  and  two  comrades  had  lived. 
It  was  merely  a  roof  pitched  at  a  steep  angle,  and  the  low 
walls  were  embedded  in  earth ;  only  on  the  side  facing  the 
river  was  a  little  window — it  did  not  open — and  a  door.  A 
comfortless-looking  place  it  was. 

"  But  why  the  earth  piled  up  against  the  sides  ?  "  I  asked. 
It  was  sprouting  grass  now  and  yellow  buttercups  and  looked 
gay  and  pretty,  the  only  attractive  thing  about  the  place. 

"  Madame,  for  the  cold,"  said  he,  "  for  the  cold."  And 
remembering  what  they  had  told  me  about  the  cold  of 
Kharbin,  what  I  myself  had  experienced  at  Manchmia  on 
the  way  out  in  much  the  same  latitude  as  this,  I  could 
quite  well  believe  that  even  sunk  in  the  earth  this  poor 
little  hut  was  not  a  very  good  protection  against  the  cold. 

The  river  widened  again,  winding  its  way  across  a  plateau. 
On  the  Chinese  side  were  great  oak  forests  where  my  Cossack 
told  me  were  many  pig  that  gave  them  good  huntmg  and 
many  bees,  but  this  was  not  China  as  I  knew  it.  It  was  iii- 
habited,  he  said,  by  nomad  tribes  who  were  great  horsemen, 
and  we  saw  occasional  villages  and — a  rare  sight — cattle,  red 
and  white,  standing  knee-deep  in  the  clear  water.  Particu- 
larly was  I  struck  by  the  cattle,  for  in  all  those  thousands 
of  miles  of  travel  I  could  count  on  my  fingers — the  fingers  of 
one  hand  would  be  too  many — the  nimibers  of  times  I  saw 
herds  of  cattle.  Once  was  in  SaghaUen,  and  twice,  I  think, 
here,  cmiously  enough,  for  the  pm*e  Chinese  does  not  use 


FACING  WEST  207 

milk  or  butter  on  the  Chinese  side  of  the  river.  Of  course 
there  must  have  been  cows  somewhere,  for  there  was  plenty 
of  milk,  cream  and  butter  for  sale,  but  they  were  not  in 
e\'idence  from  the  river. 

On  the  Russian  side  the  landing-places  did  not  change 
much,  only  now  among  the  women  hawkers  were  Chinese 
in  belted  blouses,  green,  yellow,  blue,  pink,  red ;  they  rioted 
in  colour  as  they  never  did  in  their  own  land,  and  they  all 
wore  sea-boots. 

And  still  over  twelve  hundied  miles  from  the  sea  it  was  a 
great  river.  And  then  at  last  I  saw  what  I  had  been  looking 
for  ever  since  I  embarked — fields  of  corn,  corn  ripe  for  the 
harvest.  This  was  all  this  lovely  land  needed,  a  field  of  com  ; 
but  again  it  was  not  on  the  Russian  side,  but  on  the  Chinese. 

The  spires  and  domes  of  Blagoveschensk,  the  capital  of 
the  Amur  Province,  came  into  view.  All  along  the  Russian 
bank  of  the  river  lay  this  city  of  Eastern  Siberia.  Its 
buildings  stood  out  against  the  clear  sky  behind  it,  and 
approacliing  it  was  like  coming  up  to  a  great  port.  The 
river,  I  should  think,  was  at  least  a  mile  wide.  I  am  not 
very  good  at  judging  distances,  but  it  gave  me  the  impression 
of  a  very  wide  river  set  here  in  the  midst  of  a  plain — ^that  is, 
of  course,  a  plateau,  for  we  had  come  through  the  hills. 

And  here  my  Cossack  friend  came  to  bid  me  good-bye  and 
to  impress  upon  me  once  again  to  go  straight  to  the  Governor 
for  that  protection  order.  He  was  sorry  he  could  not  see 
me  through,  but  his  orders  were  to  go  to  Chita  as  fast  as  he 
could,  and  someone  would  speak  English  at  Blagoveschensk, 
for  it  was  a  great  city,  and  then  he  asked  for  the  last  tune : 

"  But,  Madame,  why  does  not  England  come  in  ?  " 

And  then  the  question  that  had  troubled  me  so  was 
answered,  for  as  we  touched  the  shore  men  came  on  board 
wild  with  excitement,  shouting,  yelling,  telling  the  war  news, 


208  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

that  very  day,  that  very  moment,  it  seemed,  England  had 
come  in ! 

And  I  appeared  to  be  the  only  representative  of  Britain 
in  that  corner  of  the  world  !  Never  was  there  such  a 
popular  person.  The  sailor-men  who  worked  the  ship,  the 
poorer  third  and  fourth  class  passengers  all  came  crowding 
to  look  at  the  Englishwoman.  I  had  only  got  to  say 
"  Anglisky "  to  have  everyone  bowing  down  before  me 
and  kissing  my  hand,  and  my  Cossack  friend  as  he  bade 
me  good-bye  seemed  to  think  it  hardly  necessary  to  go  to 
the  Governor  except  that  a  member  of  a  great  Allied  nation 
ought  to  be  properly  received. 

But  I  had  been  bitten  once,  and  I  determined  to  make 
things  as  safe  as  I  could  for  the  futm-e.  So  I  got  a  droshky — 
a  sort  of  tumble-down  victoria,  held  together  with  pieces 
of  string,  and  driven  by  a  man  who  might  have  been 
Russian  or  might  have  been  Chinese — and  Buchanan  and  I 
went  tlu'ough  the  dusty,  sunny  streets  of  the  capital  of  the 
Amur  Province  to  the  viceregal  residence. 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AMUR 

Blagoveschensk  is  built  on  much  the  same  Hnes  as  all  the 
other  Siberian  to^^^ls  that  I  have  seen,  a  wooden  town  mostly 
of  one-storeyed  houses  straggling  over  the  plain  in  wide 
streets  that  cut  one  another  at  right  angles.  Again  it  was 
not  at  all  unlike  an  Australian  town,  a  frontier  town  to  all 
intents  and  purposes.  The  side-roads  were  deep  in  dust, 
and  the  principal  shop,  a  great  store,  a  sort  of  mild  imitation 
of  Harrod's,  where  you  could  buy  everything  from  a  needle 
to  an  anchor — I  bought  a  dog-collar  with  a  bell  for  Buchanan 
— was  run  by  Germans.  It  was  a  specimen  of  Germany's 
success  in  peaceful  penetration.  It  seemed  as  if  she  were 
throwing  away  the  meat  for  the  shadow,  for  they  were  intern- 
ing all  those  assistants — 400  of  them.  Now  probably  they 
form  the  nucleus  of  the  Bolshevist  force  helping  Germany. 

The  Governor's  house  was  on  the  outskirts  of  the  town, 
and  it  was  thronged  with  people,  men  mostly,  and  Buchanan 
and  I  v.ere  passed  from  one  room  to  another,  evidently  by 
people  who  had  not  the  faintest  notion  of  what  we  wanted. 
Everybody  said  "jBow/owr,"  and  the  Governor  and  every- 
body else  kissed  my  hand.  I  said  I  was  "  Anglisky,"  and  it 
seemed  as  if  everybody  in  consequence  came  to  look  at  me. 
But  it  didn't  advance  matters  at  all. 

I  began  to   be  hungry   and  tired,   and  various  people 

tried  questions  upon  me,  but  nothing  definite  happened. 

At  last,  after  about  two  hours,  when  I  was  seriously  thinking 

of  giving  up  in  despair,  a  tall,  good-looking  officer  hi  khaki 

o  209 


210  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

came  in.  He  put  his  heels  together  and  kissed  my  hand  as 
courteously  as  the  rest  had  done,  and  then  informed  me  in 
excellent  English  that  he  was  the  Boundary  Commissioner 
and  they  had  sent  for  him  because  there  was  an  English- 
woman arrived,  and,  while  very  desirous  of  being  civil  to 
the  representative  of  their  new  Ally,  nobody  could  make 
out  what  on  earth  she  was  doing  here  and  what  she  wanted  ! 

I  told  my  story  and  it  was  easy  enough  then.  He  admired 
Buchanan  properly,  drove  us  both  to  his  house,  introduced 
me  to  his  wife  and  made  me  out  a  most  gorgeous  protection 
order  written  in  Russian.  I  have  it  still,  but  I  never  had 
occasion  to  use  it. 

Opposite  Blagoveschensk  is  a  Chinese  town  which  is 
called  Sakalin,  though  the  maps  never  give  it  that  name,  and 
in  Vladivostok  and  Peking  they  call  it  various  other  names. 
But  its  right  name  is  Sakalin,  I  know,  for  I  stayed  there  for 
the  best  part  of  a  week. 

At  Sakalin  the  head  of  the  Chinese  Customs  is  a  Dane, 
Paul  Barentzen,  and  to  him  and  his  wife  am  I  greatly  be- 
holden. I  had  been  given  letters  to  them,  and  I  asked  my 
friend  the  kindly  Russian  Boundaiy  Commissioner  if  he 
knew  them.  He  did.  He  explained  to  me  I  must  have  a 
permit  to  cross  the  river  and  he  would  give  me  one  for 
a  week.  A  week  seemed  overlong,  but  he  explained  the 
Russian  Government  did  not  allow  free  traffic  across  the 
river  and  it  was  just  as  well  to  have  a  permit  that  would 
cover  the  whole  of  my  stay.  Even  now,  though  I  did  stay 
my  week,  I  have  not  fathomed  the  reason  of  these  elaborate 
precautions,  because  it  must  be  impossible  to  guard  every 
little  landing-place  on  the  long,  long,  lonely  river — ^there 
must  be  hundreds  of  places  where  it  is  easy  enough  to  cross 
— only  I  suppose  every  stranger  is  liable  sooner  or  later  to 
be  callctl  upon  to  give  an  account  of  himself. 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AMUR    211 

The  feiTies  that  crossed  the  Aniur  to  the  Chinese  side  were 
great  boats  built  to  carry  a  large  number  of  passengers,  but 
the  arrangements  for  getting  across  the  river  did  justice  to 
both  Chinese  and  Russian  mismanagement.  Unlike  the 
efficient  Japanese,  both  these  nations,  it  seems  to  me,  aiTive 
at  the  end  in  view  with  the  minimum  amount  of  trouble  to 
those  in  authority — that  is  to  say,  the  maximmn  of  trouble 
to  everybody  concerned.  The  ferry-boats  owing  to  local 
politics  had  a  monopoly,  and  therefore  went  at  their  own 
sweet  will  just  exactly  when  they  pleased.  There  was  a 
large  and  busy  traffic,  but  the  boats  never  went  oftener 
than  once  an  hour,  and  the  approaches  were  just  as  primitive 
as  they  possibly  could  be.  Tliere  was  one  little  shed  with 
a  seat  running  round  where  if  you  were  fortunate  you  could 
sit  down  with  the  Chinese  hawkers  and  wait  for  the  arrival 
of  the  boat.  And  when  it  did  come  the  passengers,  after  a 
long,  long  wait,  came  climbing  up  the  rough  path  up  the 
bank  looking  as  if  they  had  been  searched  to  the  skin.  They 
let  me  through  on  the  Chinese  side  and  I  found  without  any 
difficulty  my  way  to  Mr  Paul  Barentzen's  house,  a  two- 
storeyed,  comfortable  house,  and  received  a  warm  invitation 
from  him  and  his  wife  to  stay  with  them. 

It  was  a  chance  not  to  be  missed.  I  was  getting  very 
weary,  I  was  tired  in  every  bone,  so  a  chance  like  this  to 
stay  with  kindly  people  who  spoke  my  own  language,  on 
the  very  outskirts  of  the  Cliinese  Empire,  was  not  to  be 
lightly  missed,  and  I  accepted  with  gratitude,  a  gratitude 
I  feel  strongly.  Mr  Barentzen  was  a  Dane,  but  he  spoke  as 
good  English  as  I  do,  and  if  possible  was  more  British.  His 
wife  was  English.  And  that  night  he  celebrated  the  coming 
into  the  war  of  Britain.  He  asked  me  and  the  Russian 
Boundary  Conmiissioner  and  his  wife  and  another  Russian 
gentleman  all  to  dimier  in  the  gardens  at  Blagoveschensk, 


212  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

The  place  was  a  blaze  of  light,  there  were  flags  and  lamps 
and  bands  everywhere,  the  whole  city  was  en  fete  to  do  honour 
to  the  new  addition  to  the  Grande  Entente.  When  we 
were  tired  of  walking  about  the  gardens  we  went  inside  to 
the  principal  restaui'ant  that  was  packed  with  people  dining, 
while  on  a  stage  various  singers  discoursed  sweet  music  and 
waved  the  flags  of  the  Allies,  But  the  British  flag  had  not 
got  as  far  as  the  capital  of  the  Amur  Province.  Indeed 
much  farther  west  than  that  I  found  it  represented  by  a  red 
flag  with  black  crosses  di'awn  on  it,  very  much  at  the  taste 
of  the  artist,  and  "  Anglisky  "  written  boldly  across  it  to 
make  up  for  any  deficiency. 

Mr  Barentzen  had  foreseen  this  difficulty  and  had  provided 
us  all  with  nice  little  silk  specimens  of  the  Union  Jack  to 
wear  pinned  on  our  breasts.  About  ten  o'clock  we  sat  down 
to  a  most  excellent  dinner,  with  stiu-geon  and  sour  cream  and 
caviare  and  all  the  good  things  that  Eastern  Siberia  produces. 
A  packed  room  also  dined,  while  the  people  on  the  stage  sang 
patriotic  songs,  and  we  were  all  given  silk  programmes  as 
souvenirs.  They  sang  the  Belgian,  the  French  and  the 
Russian  national  anthems,  and  at  last  we  asked  for  the 
British. 

Very  comteously  the  conductor  sent  back  word  to  say  he 
was  very  sorry  but  the  British  national  anthem  was  also 
a  (German  hymn  and  if  he  dared  play  it  the  people  would 
tear  him  to  pieces.  Remembering  my  tribulations  a  little 
way  down  the  river,  I  quite  believed  him,  so  I  suggested  as 
an  alternative  Rule,  Britannia,  but  alas  !  he  had  never  heard 
of  it.     It  was  a  deadlock,  and  we  looked  at  one  another. 

Then  the  tall  Russian  who  was  the  other  guest  pushed  his 
chair  from  the  table,  stood  up,  and  saluting,  whistled  Rule, 
Britannia  !  How  the  people  applauded  !  And  so  Britain 
entered  the  war  in  Far  Eastern  Siberia. 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AlVIXm    213 

We  certainly  did  not  go  home  till  morning  that  day.  For 
that  matter,  I  don't  think  you  are  supposed  to  cross  the  river 
at  night,  not  ordinary  folk,  Customs  officials  may  have 
special  privileges.  At  any  rate  I  came  back  to  my  bunk 
on  the  steamer  and  an  anxious  little  dog  just  as  the  day  was 
breaking,  and  next  day  I  crossed  to  Sakalin  and  stayed  with 
the  Barentzens. 

The  Russians  then  took  so  much  trouble  to  keep  the 
Chinese  on  their  own  side  of  the  river  that  the  Russian 
officers  and  civil  servants,  much  to  the  chagrin  of  their 
wives,  were  nowhere  in  the  province  allowed  to  have  Chinese 
servants.  The  fee  for  a  passport  had  been  raised  to,  I  think, 
twelve  roubles,  so  it  was  no  longer  worth  a  Chinaman's 
while  to  get  one  to  hawk  a  basket  of  vegetables,  and  the 
mines  on  the  Zeya,  a  tributary  of  the  Amur  on  the  Russian 
side,  had  fallen  off  in  their  yield  because  cheap  labour  was 
no  longer  possible.  The  people  who  did  get  passports  were 
the  Chinese  prostitutes,  though  a  Chinese  woman  has  not  a 
separate  identity  in  China  and  is  not  allowed  a  passport  of 
her  own.  However,  there  are  ways  of  getting  over  that. 
A  man  applied  for  a  passport  and  it  was  granted  him.  He 
handed  it  over  to  the  woman  for  a  consideration,  and  on 
the  other  side  any  Chinese  dociunent  was,  as  a  rule,  all  one 
to  the  Russian  official.  Remembering  my  own  experience 
and  how  I  had  difficulty  in  deciding  between  my  passport 
and  my  agreement  with  my  muleteers,  I  could  quite  believe 
this  story. 

Blagoveschensk  is  a  regular  frontier  town  and,  according 
to  Mr  Barentzen,  is  unsafe.  On  the  first  occasion  that 
I  crossed  the  river  with  him  I  produced  a  hundred- 
rouble  note.  Almost  before  I  had  laid  it  do^^^l  it  was 
snatched  up  by  the  Chinese  Commissioner  of  Customs. 

'*  Are  you  mad  ?  "  said  he,  and  he  crumpled  up  the  note 


214  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

in  his  hand  and  held  out  for  my  acceptance  a  rouble.  I 
tried  to  explain  that  not  having  change,  and  finding  it  a  little 
awkward,  I  thought  that  this  would  be  a  good  opportunity 
to  get  it,  as  I  felt  sure  the  man  at  receipt  of  custom  must 
have  plenty. 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  my  host  sarcastically.  "  I  don't  want 
to  take  away  anybody's  character,  but  I'll  venture  to  say 
there  are  at  least  ten  men  A^ithin  hail " — ^there  was  a 
crowd  round — "  who  would  joyfully  cut  your  throat  for 
ten  roubles." 

He  enlarged  upon  that  theme  later.  We  used  to  sit  out 
on  the  balcony  of  his  liouse  looking  out,  not  over  the  river, 
but  over  the  town  of  Sakalin,  and  there  used  to  come  in 
the  men  from  the  B.A.T.  Factory,  a  Russian  in  top-boots 
who  spoke  excellent  English  and  a  young  American  named 
Hyde.  They  told  me  tales,  well,  something  like  the  stories  I 
used  to  listen  to  in  my  childhood's  days  when  we  talked  about 
"  the  breaking  out  of  the  gold  "  in  Australia,  tales  of  men 
who  had  washed  much  gold  and  then  were  lured  away  and 
murdered  for  their  riches.  Certainly  they  did  not  consider 
Blagoveschensk  or  Sakalin  towns  in  which  a  woman  could 
safely  wander.  In  fact  all  the  Siberian  towns  that  they 
knew  came  under  the  ban. 

But  of  course  mostly  we  talked  about  the  war  and  how 
maddening  it  was  only  to  get  scraps  of  news  through  the 
telegraph.  The  young  American  was  keen,  I  remember. 
I  wonder  if  he  really  had  patience  to  wait  till  his  country 
came  in.  He  talked  then  in  the  first  week  of  the  war  of 
making  his  way  back  to  Canada  and  seeing  if  he  could 
enlist  there,  for  even  then  we  felt  sure  that  the  Outer 
Dominions  would  want  to  help  the  Motherland.  And  the 
Germans  were  round  Li6ge — would  they  take  it  ?  Associa- 
tion is  a  curious  thing.    Whenever  I  hear  of  Lidge  I  cannot 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AMUR    215 

help  thinking,  not  of  the  Belgian  city,  but  of  a  comfortable 
seat  on  a  balcony  -svith  the  shadows  falling  and  the  lights 
coming  out  one  by  one  on  the  bath-houses  that  are  dotted 
about  a  little  town  on  the  very  outskirts  of  the  Chinese 
Empire — ^the  lights  of  the  town.  There  are  the  sounds  and 
the  smells  of  the  Chinese  town  mingling  with  the  voices  of 
the  talkers  and  the  fragrance  of  the  coffee,  and  the  air  is 
close  with  the  warmth  of  August.  There  comes  back  to 
me  the  remembrance  of  the  keen  young  American  who 
wanted  to  fight  Germany  and  the  young  Russian  in  top- 
boots  who  was  very  much  afraid  he  would  only  be  used  to 
guard  German  prisoners. 

Sakalin  was  cosmopolitan,  but  it  had  a  leaning  toward 
Russia,  hence  the  bath-houses,  an  idea  foreign  to  Chinese 
civilisation ;  and  when  I  got  a  piece  of  grit  in  my  eye  which 
refused  to  come  out  it  was  to  a  Japanese  doctor  I  went, 
accompanied  by  my  host's  Chinese  servant,  who,  having 
had  the  trouble  stated  by  me  in  English,  explained  it  to 
another  man  in  Chinese,  who  in  his  turn  told  the  doctor 
what  was  the  matter  in  Russian.  Luckily  that  man  of 
medicine  was  ver\^  deft  and  I  expect  he  could  have  managed 
very  well  without  any  explanation  at  all.  I  have  the 
greatest  respect  for  the  Japanese  leech  I  visited  in  Sakalin. 

On  the  Sunday  we  had  a  big  picnic.  The  Russian  Bound- 
ary Commissioner  came  across  with  his  wife  and  little  girls, 
Mrs  Barentzen  took  her  little  girl  and  the  Chinese  Tao  Tai 
lent  us  the  light  of  his  countenance.  He  was  the  feature 
of  the  entertainment,  for  he  was  a  very  big  man,  both  liter- 
ally and  socially,  and  could  not  move  without  a  large  follow- 
ing, so  that  an  escort  of  mounted  police  took  charge  of  us. 
The  proper  portly  Chinaman  of  whom  this  retinue  was  in 
honour  spoke  no  English,  but  smiled  at  me  benevolently, 
and  wore  a  petticoat  and  a  Russian  military  cap  !    The 


216  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

picnic  was  by  a  little  brook  about  seven  miles  from  the  town 
and  I  shall  always  remember  it  because  of  the  lush  grass, 
waist -high,  and  the  lovely  flowers.  I  had  looked  at  the 
Siberian  flowers  from  the  steamer  when  they  were  ungetat- 
able,  I  had  gathered  them  with  joy  in  Saghalien,  and  now 
here  they  were  again  just  to  my  hand.  In  June  they  told 
me  there  were  abundant  lilies  of  the  valley,  and  I  regretted 
I  had  not  been  there  in  June.  Truly  I  feel  it  would  be  a 
delight  to  see  lilies  of  the  valley  growing  wild,  but  as  it  was, 
the  flowers  were  beautiful  enough,  and  there  were  heaps  of 
them.  There  were  very  fine  Canterbury  bells,  a  glorious 
violet  flower  and  magnificent  white  poppies.  Never  have  I 
gathered  more  lovely  flowers,  never  before  have  I  seen  them 
growing  wild  in  such  amazing  abundance.  No  one  is  more 
truly  artistic  than  the  average  Chinese,  and  I  think  the  Tao 
Tai  must  have  enjoyed  himself,  though  it  is  against  the 
canons  of  good  taste  in  China  to  look  about  you. 

Presently  I  was  asking  the  chief  magistrate's  good  offices 
for  Buchanan,  for  he,  my  treasured  Buchanan,  was  lost. 
In  the  Barentzens'  house  there  was,  of  com-se,  as  in  all  well- 
regulated  Chinese  houses  run  by  foreigners,  a  bathroom 
attached  to  every  bedroom,  and  when  I  wanted  a  bath 
the  servants  filled  ^vith  warm  water  the  half  of  a  large 
barrel,  which  made  a  very  excellent  bath-tub.  And  having 
bathed  myself,  I  bathed  Buchanan,  whose  white  coat  got 
very  dirty  in  the  dusty  Chinese  streets.  He  ran  away  down- 
stairs and  I  lingered  for  a  moment  to  put  on  my  dress,  and 
when  I  came  down  he  was  gone.  High  and  low  I  hunted ; 
I  went  up  and  down  the  street  calling  his  name,  and  I 
knew  he  would  have  answered,  he  always  did,  had  he 
been  within  hearing.  All  tiie  Customs  men  were  turned 
out  and  I  went  to  the  Chinese  Tao  Tai,  who  promptly 
put  on  all  the  police.     But   Buchanan  was  gone  for   a 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AMUR    217 

night  and  I  was  in  despair.    Mr  Barentzen's   head  boy 
shook  his  head. 

"  Master  saying,"  said  he,  *'  mus'  get  back  that  dog." 
So  I  realised  I  was  making  a  fuss,  but  for  the  moment  I  did 
not  care.  The  Tao  Tai  gave  it  as  his  opinion  that  he  had 
not  been  stolen.  There  were  many  little  dogs  like  him  in 
the  town,  said  he,  no  one  would  steal  one,  which  only  shows 
a  Chinese  magistrate  may  not  be  infallible,  for  I  was  sure 
Buchanan  would  not  stay  away  from  me  of  his  own  free  will. 

And  then  at  last  the  servants  turned  up  triiunphant, 
Buchanan,  in  the  arms  of  the  head  boy,  wild  with  delight 
at  seeing  his  mistress  again.  The  police  had  searched  every- 
where, but  the  servants,  with  their  master's  injunction  in 
mind  and  my  reward  to  be  earned,  had  made  fiui;her  inquiries 
and  found  that  a  little  boy  had  been  seen  taking  the  dog  into 
a  certain  house  occupied  by  an  official,  the  man  who  was 
responsible  for  the  cleaning  of  the  streets.  This  was  the 
first  intimation  I  ever  had  that  the  Chinese  did  clean  their 
streets  :  I  had  thought  that  they  left  that  job  to  the  "  wonks  " 
and  the  scavenger  crows.  The  police  made  inquiries.  No, 
there  was  no  little  dog  there.  But  the  servants — wise 
Chinese  servants — made  friends  with  the  people  round, 
and  they  said  :  "  Watch.  There  is  a  dog."  So  a  junior 
servant  was  put  to  watch,  and  when  the  gate  of  the  com- 
pound was  opened  he  stole  in,  and  tha^e  was  poor  little 
James  Buchanan  tied  up  to  a  post.  That  servant  seized 
the  dog  and  fled  home  in  triumph. 

The  T'ai  T'ai  (the  official's  wife),  said  the  people  round, 
had  wanted  the  pretty  little  dog. 

I  was  so  delighted  to  get  my  little  friend  back  that 
I  should  have  been  content  to  leave  things  there.  Not 
so  Mr  Barentzen.  He  sent  for  that  official,  and  there  in 
his  drawing-room  he  and  I  interviewed  a  portly  Chinese 


218  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

gentleman  in  grey  petticoats,  a  long  pigtail,  a  little  black 
silk  cap  and  the  tips  of  the  silver  shields  that  encased  the 
long  nails  of  his  little  fingers  just  showing  beyond  his 
voluminous  sleeves. 

"  An  officious  servant,"  he  said.  He  was  extremely  sorry 
the  Commissioner  of  Customs  and  his  friend  had  been  put 
to  so  much  inconvenience.  The  servant  had  already  been 
dismissed.  And  so  we  bowed  him  out,  face  was  saved,  and 
all  parties  were  satisfied.  It  was  very  Chinese.  And  yet 
we  knew,  and  we  knew  that  he  must  have  known  we  knew, 
that  it  was  really  his  wife  who  received  the  little  dog  that 
everyone  concerned  must  have  realised  was  valuable  and 
must  have  been  stolen. 

Here  in  Sakalin  I  heard  about  the  doings  of  the  only 
wolves  that  came  into  my  wanderings.  In  the  little  river 
harbour  were  many  small  steamers  flying  the  Russian  flag 
and  loading  great  barrels  with  the  ends  painted  bright  red. 
These  barrels,  explained  the  Customs  Commissioner,  contained 
spirits  which  the  Russians  were  desirous  of  smuggling  into 
Russian  territory.  The  Chinese  had  not  the  least  objection 
to  their  leaving  China  after  they  had  paid  export  duty. 
They  were  taken  up  and  down  the  river  and  finally  landed 
at  some  small  port  w^hence  they  were  smuggled  across.  The 
trade  was  a  very  big  one.  The  men  engaged  in  it  were 
known  as  the  wolves  of  the  Amur  and  were  usually  Caucasians 
and  Jews.  In  1913,  the  last  year  of  which  I  have  statistics, 
no  less  than  twenty-five  thousand  pounds  export  was  paid 
on  these  spirits,  and  in  the  years  before  it  used  to  be  greater. 
I  wonder  whether  with  the  relaxing  of  discipline  consequent 
on  the  war  and  the  revolution  the  receipts  for  the  export 
have  not  gone  up. 

The  wide  river  was  beautiful  here,  and  Blagoveschensk, 
lying  across  the  water,  with  its  spires  and  domes,  all  the 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AIVIUR    219 

outlines  softened,  standing  against  the  evening  sky,  might 
have  been  some  to\\'n  of  pictmed  Italy.  I  am  glad  I  have 
seen  it.  I  dare  not  expiate  on  Mr  Barentzen's  kindness. 
My  drastic  critic,  drastic  and  so  invaluable,  says  that  I 
have  already  overloaded  this  book  with  tales  of  people's 
kindness,  so  I  can  only  say  I  stayed  there  a  week  and  then 
took  passage  on  the  smaller  steamer  which  was  bound  up 
the  Amur  and  the  Shilka  to  Stretensk  and  the  railway. 

I  had,  however,  one  regret.  I  had  inadvertently  taken  my 
plates  and  films  on  wliich  I  had  all  my  pictures  of  the  Amur 
and  Saghalien  across  the  Sakalin  and  I  could  not  take  them 
back  again.  The  Russian  rule  was  very  strict.  No  photo- 
graphs were  allowed.  Ever>i:hing  crossing  the  river  must 
be  examined.  Now  to  examine  my  undeveloped  films  and 
plates  would  be  to  ruin  them.  I  interviewed  a  Japanese 
photographer  on  the  Sakalin  side,  but  he  appeared  to  be  a 
very  tyro  in  the  art  of  developing,  and  finally  very  reluc- 
tantly I  decided  to  leave  them  for  Mr  Barentzen  to  send 
home  when  he  got  the  chance.  He  did  not  get  that  chance 
till  the  middle  of  1916,  and  I  regret  to  state  that  when 
we  came  to  develop  them  every  single  one  of  them  was 
ruined. 

The  steamer  that  I  embarked  on  now  was  considerably 
smaller,  for  the  river  was  nanowing.  The  deck  that  ran 
round  the  cabins  was  only  thirty  inches  wide  and  crowded 
with  children ;  worse,  when  James  Buchanan  and  I  went 
for  our  daily  promenades  we  found  the  way  disputed  by 
women,  mothers,  or  nursemaids,  I  know  not  which,  pro- 
pelling the  children  who  could  not  walk  in  wheeled  chairs, 
and  they  thought  Buchanan  had  been  brought  there  for 
their  special  benefit,  a  view  which  the  gentleman  himself 
did  not  share.  However,  he  was  my  only  means  of  com- 
munication with  them,  for  they  had  no  English  or  French, 


220  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

But  I  was  lucky,  for  one  of  the  mates,  brass-bound  and  in 
spotless  white,  like  so  many  Russians  had  served  in  British 
ships  and  spoke  English  very  well  with  a  slight  Scots  accent. 
With  him  I  used  to  hold  daily  conversations  and  always 
we  discussed  the  war.  But  he  shook  his  head  over  it.  It 
was  not  possible  to  get  much  news  at  the  little  wayside 
places  at  which  we  stopped.  There  were  no  papers — the 
Russian  peasant  under  the  beneficent  rule  of  the  Tsar  was 
not  encoiu-aged  to  learn  to  read — and  for  his  part  he,  the 
mate,  put  no  faith  in  the  telegrams.  All  would  be  well,  of 
course,  but  we  must  wait  till  we  came  to  some  large  and 
influential  place  for  news  upon  which  we  could  rely. 

But  that  large  and  influential  place  was  long  in  coming, 
in  fact  I  may  say  it  never  materialised  while  I  was  on  the 
river.  There  are  at  least  eleven  towns  marked  on  the  way 
between  Blagoveschensk  and  Stretensk,  but  even  the  town 
at  the  junction  where  the  Aigun  and  the  Shilka  merge  into 
the  Amur  is  but  a  tiny  frontier  village,  and  the  rest  as  I 
know  the  river  banks  are  only  a  few  log  huts  inhabited 
by  peasants  who  apparently  keep  guard  over  and  supply 
the  stacks  of  wood  needed  by  the  steamers. 

It  was  a  lovely  river  now  going  north,  north  and  then 
west,  or  rather  we  went  north,  the  river  flowed  the  other 
way,  it  was  narrower  and  wound  between  wooded  hills  and 
it  was  very  lonely.  There  were  occasional,  very  occasional, 
little  settlements,  on  the  Chinese  side  I  do  not  remember 
even  a  hut,  though  it  was  a  lovely  green  land  and  the  river, 
clear  as  crystal,  reflected  on  its  breast  the  trees  and  rocks 
among  which  we  made  our  way. 

Once  on  the  Russian  side  we  landed  from  a  boat  a  woman 
with  two  little  children  and  innumerable  bundles.  They  had 
been  down,  I  suppose,  to  visit  the  centre  of  civilisation  at 
Blagoveschensk  and  now  were  coming  home.    In  the  dusk 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AMUR    221 

of  the  evening  we  left  her  there  looking  down  thoughtfully 
at  her  encumbrances,  not  a  living  creature  in  sight,  not  a 
sign  of  man's  handiwork  anywhere.  I  hoped  there  were  no 
tigers  about,  but  she  has  always  lived  in  my  memory  as  an 
unfinished  story.  I  suppose  we  all  of  us  have  those  un- 
finished stories  in  our  lives,  not  stories  left  unfinished  because 
they  are  so  long  drawn  out  we  could  not  possibly  wait  for 
developments,  but  stories  that  must  finish  suddenly,  only 
we  are  withdrawn.  Once  I  looked  from  a  railway  carriage 
window  in  the  Midlands  and  I  saw  a  bull  chasing  a  woman ; 
she  was  running,  screaming  for  all  she  was  worth,  for  a  fence, 
but  whether  she  reached  it  or  not  I  have  no  means  of  know- 
ing. Another  time  I  saw  also  from  a  railway  carriage 
window  two  men,  mother  naked,  chasing  each  other  across 
the  greensward  and  left  them  there  because  the  train  went 
on.  Of  course  I  have  often  enough  seen  men  without 
clothes  in  the  tropics,  but  in  the  heart  of  England  they  are 
out  of  the  picture  and  want  explaining.  That  explanation 
I  shall  never  get.  Nor  is  it  likely  I  shall  ever  know  whether 
that  unknown  woman  and  her  little  childien  ever  reached 
their  unknown  home. 

We  were  luxuriously  fed  upon  that  little  steamer.  The 
Russian  tea  \nth  lemon  and  the  bread  and  butter  were 
delicious,  and  we  had  plenty  of  cream,  though  gone  was  the 
red  caviare  that  farther  east  had  been  so  common.  But  I 
was  tired  and  at  last  feeling  lonely.  I  began  to  count  the 
days  till  I  should  reach  home. 

On  the  Amur  the  weather  had  been  gorgeous,  but  when  we 
entered  the  Shilka  we  were  north  of  53°  again  and  well 
into  the  mountains,  and  the  next  morning  I  awoke  to  a  grey 
day.  It  rained  and  it  rained,  not  tropical  rain,  but  soft, 
penetrating  rain ;  the  fir-clad  hills  on  either  side  were  veiled 
in  a  silvery  mist.    The  river  wound  so  that  as  we  looked 


222  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

ahead  we  seemed  to  be  sailing  straight  into  the  hills.  The 
way  looked  blocked  with  hills,  sometimes  all  mist-covered, 
sometimes  with  the  green  showing  alluringly  tlu'ough  the 
mist,  and  occasionally,  when  the  mist  lifted  and  the  sun 
came  out,  in  all  the  gullies  would  linger  little  grey  cloudlets, 
as  if  caught  before  they  could  get  away  and  waiting 
there  screened  by  the  hills  till  the  mist  should  fall  again. 
Occasionally  there  were  lonely  houses,  still  more  occasionally 
little  settlements  of  log  huts  with  painted  windows  hennetic- 
ally  sealed,  and  once  or  twice  a  field  of  corn  ripe  for  the 
harvest  but  drowned  by  the  persistent  rain.  But  the  air 
was  soft  and  delicious,  divine ;  only  in  the  cabins  on  board 
the  crowded  steamer  was  it  pestilential.  The  mate  told  me 
how,  six  weeks  before,  on  his  last  trip  up,  an  Englishman 
had  come  selling  reapers  and  binders,  and  he  thought  that 
now  I  had  made  my  appearance  the  English  were  rather 
crowding  the  Amur. 

Sometunes  when  we  stopped  the  passengers  went  ashore 
and  went  berrying,  returning  with  gi-eat  branches  laden  with 
fruit,  and  I  and  Buchanan  too  walked  a  little  way,  keeping 
the  steamer  well  in  sight,  and  rejoicing  in  the  flowers  and 
the  green  and  the  rich,  fresh  smell  of  moist  earth.  I  do 
not  know  that  ever  in  my  life  do  I  remember  enjoying  rain 
so  much.  Of  course  in  my  youth  in  Australia  I  had  always 
welcomed  the  life-giving  rain,  but  thirteen  years  in  England, 
where  I  yearned  for  the  sunshine,  had  somehow  dimmed 
those  memories,  and  now  once  again  the  rain  on  the  river 
brought  me  joy.  Tlie  mist  was  a  thing  of  beauty,  and  when 
a  ray  of  sunshine  found  its  way  into  a  green,  mist-veiled 
valley,  illuminating  its  lovely  loneliness,  then  indeed  I  knew 
that  the  earth  was  the  Lord's  and  the  fullness  thereof. 

Sometimes  we  passed  rafts  upon  the  river.  They  were 
logs  bomid  together  in  great  parallelograms  and  worked 


THE  UPPER  REACHES  OF  THE  AMUR    223 

with  twelve  long  sweeps  fixed  at  each  end.  Twelve  men  at 
least  went  to  each  raft,  and  there  were  small  houses  built  of 
grass  and  canvas  and  wood.  They  were  taking  the  wood 
down  to  Nikolayeusk  to  be  shipped  to  Shanghai  and  other 
parts  of  the  world  for  furniture,  for  these  great  forests  of 
birch  and  elm  and  fir  and  oak  must  be  a  mine  of  wealth  to 
their  owners.  I  do  not  know  whether  the  wood  is  cut  on 
any  system,  and  whether  the  presence  of  these  great  rafts 
had  anything  to  do  with  the  many  dead  trees  I  saw  in  the 
forests,  their  white  stems  standing  up  ghostlike  against  the 
green  hill-side. 

I  have  no  record  of  these  lovely  places.  My  camera  was 
locked  away  now  in  my  suit-case,  for  it  was  war,  and  Russia, 
rightly,  would  allow  no  photographs. 

Seven  days  after  we  left  Blagoveschensk  we  reached 
Stretensk  and  I  came  in  contact  for  the  first  time  with  the 
World's  War. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA 

At  Stretensk  I  awakened  to  the  fact  that  I  was  actually 
in  Siberia,  nay,  that  I  had  travelled  over  about  two  thousand 
miles  of  Siberia,  that  dark  and  gloomy  land  across  which — 
I  believed  in  my  youth — tramped  long  lines  of  prisoners 
in  chains,  sometimes  amidst  the  snow  and  ice  of  a  bitter 
winter,  sometimes  with  the  fierce  sun  beating  down  upon 
them,  but  always  hopeless,  always  hungry,  weary,  heart- 
broken, a  sacrifice  to  the  desire  for  political  liberty  that 
w^as  implanted  in  the  hearts  of  an  enslaved  people. 

It  is  an  extraordinary  thing  that,  though  for  many  years 
I  had  believed  Saghalien  was  a  terrible  island,  a  sort  of 
inferno  for  political  prisoners,  something  like  Van  Diemen's 
Land  used  to  be  in  the  old  convict  days  one  hundred  and  ten 
years  ago,  only  that  in  the  Asiatic  island  the  conditions  were 
still  more  ci-uel  and  it  was  hopeless  to  think  of  escaping, 
while  I  was  actually  in  that  beautiful  island  I  was  so  taken 
up  with  its  charm,  it  was  so  extremely  unlike  the  place  of 
which  I  had  a  picture  in  my  mind's  eye,  that  I  hardly  con- 
nected the  two.  All  up  the  Amur  river  was  a  new  land,  a 
land  crying  out  for  pioneers,  pastoralists  and  farmers,  so  that 
the  thought  that  was  uppermost  in  my  mind  was  of  the 
contrast  between  it  and  the  old  land  of  China,  where  I  had 
spent  so  long  a  time ;  but  at  Stretensk  I  suddenly  remem- 
bered this  was  Siberia,  the  very  heart  of  Siberia,  where  men 
had  suffered  unutterable  things,  might  still  be  so  suffering 
for  all  I  knew,  and  I  stepped  off  the  steamer  and  prepared 

224 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     225 

to  explore,  with,  a  feeling  that  at  any  moment  I  might  come 
across  the  heavy  logs  that  made  up  the  walls  of  a  prison, 
might  see  the  armed  sentries,  clad  to  the  eyes  in  furs,  who 
tramped  amidst  the  snow.  But  this  was  August  and  it 
was  fiercely  hot,  so  the  snow  and  the  sentries  clad  in  furs 
were  ruled  out,  and  presently  as  Buchanan  and  I  walked 
about  the  town  even  the  lonely  prison  built  of  logs  had  to  go 
too.  There  may  have  been  a  prison,  probably  there  was, 
but  it  did  not  dominate  the  picture.  Not  here  should  I 
find  the  Siberia  I  had  been  familiar  with  from  my  youth  up. 

Stretensk  is  like  all  other  Siberian  towns  that  I  have  seen. 
The  houses  are  mostly  of  one  storey  and  of  wood,  of  logs ; 
the  streets  are  wide  and  straight,  cutting  each  other  at  right 
angles,  and  the  whole  is  flung  out  upon  the  plain ;  it  is  really, 
I  think,  rather  high  among  the  mountains,  but  you  do  not 
get  the  sensation  of  hills  as  you  do  from  the  steamer. 

The  rain  had  cleared  away  and  it  was  very  hot,  though 
we  had  started  out  very  early  because  I  was  determined  to 
go  west  if  possible  that  very  afternoon.  We  went  gingerly 
because  the  dangers  of  Siberian  towns  for  one  who  looked 
fau'ly  prosperous  had  been  impressed  upon  me  at  Blagoves- 
chensk,  and  I  hesitated  about  going  far  from  the  steamer, 
where  the  mate  could  speak  English.  Still  we  went.  I  was 
not  going  to  miss  the  Siberia  of  my  dreams  if  I  could  help  it. 

I  saw  something  more  wonderful  than  the  Siberia  of  my 
dreams. 

In  consequence  of  the  ceaseless  rain  the  roads  between  the 
log-houses  with  theu*  painted  windows  were  knee-deep  in 
mud,  a  quagmii'e  that  looked  impassable.  In  the  air  was 
the  sound  of  martial  music,  and  up  and  down  in  what  would 
have  been  reckless  fashion  but  for  the  restraining  glue-like 
mud  galloped  officers  and  their  orderlies.  It  was  the  war, 
the  first  I  had  seen  of  it.  The  war  was  taking  the  place  of 
p 


226  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

the  political  exiles,  and  instead  of  seeing  Siberia  as  a  back- 
ground for  the  exiles  as  I  had  dreamed  of  it  for  so  many 
years,  I  saw  it  busy  with  preparations  for  war.  The  roads 
were  like  sloughs  out  of  which  it  would  have  been  impossible 
to  get  had  I  ever  ventured  in.  Naturally  I  did  not  venture, 
but  took  all  sorts  of  long  rounds  to  get  to  the  places  I  wanted 
to  reach.     It  is  not  a  bad  way  of  seeing  a  town. 

The  heavily  built  houses,  built  to  defy  the  Siberian  winter, 
might  have  come  out  of  Nikolayeusk  or  Kharbarosvk,  and 
though  the  sun  poured  down  out  of  a  cloudless  sky,  and  I 
was  gasping  in  a  thin  Shantung  silk,  they  were  hermetically 
sealed,  and  the  cotton  wool  between  the  double  windows 
was  decorated  with  the  usual  gay  ribbons.  I  dare  say  they 
were  cool  enough  inside,  but  they  must  have  been  intolerably 
stuffy.  The  sidewalks  too  had  dried  quickly  in  the  fierce 
sunshine.  They  were  the  usual  Siberian  sidewalks,  with  long 
lines  of  planks  like  flooring.  Had  they  ever  been  trodden, 
I  wonder,  by  the  forced  emigrant  looking  with  hopeless 
longing  back  to  the  West.  Finally  we  wandered  into  the 
gardens,  where  I  doubt  not,  judging  by  the  little  tables  and 
many  seats,  there  was  the  usual  gay  throng  at  night,  but  now 
early  in  the  morning  everything  looked  dishevelled,  and  I 
could  not  find  anyone  to  supply  me  with  the  cool  drink  of 
which  I  stood  so  badly  in  need,  and  at  last  we  made  our  way 
back  to  the  steamer,  where  the  mate,  having  got  over  the 
struggle  of  arrival — ^for  this  was  the  farthest  the  steamer 
went — ^kindly  found  time  enough  to  give  himself  to  my 
affairs.  I  wanted  a  droshky  to  take  me  to  the  train,  and 
as  nowhere  about  had  I  seen  any  signs  of  a  railway  station 
I  wanted  to  know  where  it  was. 

The  mate  laughed  and  pointed  far  away  down  the  river 
on  the  other  side.  I  really  ought  to  have  knoAvn  my  Siberia 
better  by  now.    Railways  are  not  constructed  for  the  con- 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     227 

venience  of  the  tcsvnsfolk.  There  was  nothing  else  for  it. 
I  had  to  get  there  somehow,  and  as  the  train  left  somewhere 
between  five  and  six,  about  noon,  with  the  mate's  assistance, 
I  engaged  a  droshky.  The  carriages  that  are  doing  a  last 
stage  in  this  country  are  not  quite  so  elderly  here  as  they 
are  in  Saghalien,  but  that  is  not  saying  much  for  them. 
The  one  the  mate  engaged  for  me  had  a  sturdy  little  un- 
gi'oomed  horse  in  the  shafts  and  another  running  in  a  trace 
alongside.  On  the  seat  was  packed  all  my  baggage,  two 
small  suit-cases  and  a  large  canvas  sack  into  which  I  dimiped 
rugs,  cushions  and  all  odds  and  ends,  including  my  precious 
kettles,  and  the  rough  little  unkempt  horses  towed  us  down 
thi-ough  the  sea  of  mud  to  the  ferry,  and  then  I  saw  the  scene 
had  indeed  shifted.  It  was  not  long  lines  of  exiles  bearing 
chains  I  met,  that  was  all  in  the  past,  at  least  for  an  outsider 
like  me,  but  here  in  the  heart  of  Asia  Russia  in  her  might 
was  collecting  her  forces  for  a  spring.  Tlie  great  flat  ferry 
was  crossing  and  recrossing,  and  do^vn  the  swamp  that 
courtesy  called  a  road  came  endless  streams  of  square 
khaki-coloured  carts,  driven  by  men  in  flat  caps  and  belted 
khaki  blouses,  big  fair  men,  often  giants  with  red,  sun-tanned 
faces  and  lint-white  hair,  men  who  shouted  and  laughed 
and  sang  and  threw  up  their  caps,  who  were  sober  as  judges 
and  yet  were  wild  with  excitement ;  they  were  going  to  the 
war.  I  could  not  understand  one  word  they  said,  but  there 
is  no  mistaking  gladness,  and  these  men  were  delighted  with 
their  lot.  I  wondered  was  it  a  case  of  the  prisoner  freed  or 
was  it  that  life  under  the  old  regime  in  a  Russian  village  was 
dull  to  monotony  and  to  these  recruits  was  coming  the 
chance  of  their  lifetime. 

Some  will  never  come  east  agam,  never  whether  in  love 
or  hate  will  they  see  the  steppes  and  the  flowers  and  the 
golden  sunshine  and  the  snow  of  Siberia,  they  have  left  their 


228  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

bones  on  those  battle-fields ;  but  some,  I  hope,  wiU  live  to 
see  the  regeneration  of  Russia,  when  every  man  shall  have  a 
chance  of  freedom  and  happiness.  I  suppose  this  revolution 
was  in  the  air  as  cart  after  cart  drove  on  to  the  ferry  and 
the  men  yelled  and  shouted  in  their  excitement.  A  small 
company  of  men  who  were  going  east  looked  at  them 
tolerantly — I'm  sure  it  was  tolerantly — and  then  they  too 
caught  the  infection  and  yelled  in  chorus. 

I  watched  it  all  with  interest. 

Then  half-an-hour  passed  and  still  they  came ;  an  hour, 
and  I  gi'cw  a  little  worried,  for  they  were  still  pouring  over. 
Two  hours — I  comforted  myself,  the  train  did  not  start  till 
late  in  the  afternoon — ^tliree  horns,  and  there  was  no  cessation 
in  the  stream.  And  of  course  I  could  make  no  one  under- 
stand. It  looked  as  if  I  might  wait  here  all  night.  At  last 
a  man  who  was  manifestly  an  officer  came  galloping  along 
and  hun  I  addressed  in  French. 

"  Is  it  possible  to  cross  on  the  feny  ?  " 

He  was  very  courteous. 

"It  is  not  possible  to  cross,  Madame.  It  is  not  possible. 
The  soldiers  come  first." 

I  took  another  look  at  the  good-humoured,  strapping, 
fair-haired  soldiers  in  khaki,  with  their  khaki-colomed  carts. 
The  feny  crossing  was  laden  with  them,  hundreds  of  others 
were  waiting,  among  them  numbers  of  country  people. 
They  had  bundles  and  laden  baskets  and  looked  people  who 
had  shopped  and  wanted  to  go  home  again.  Were  these 
exiles  ?  I  did  not  know.  They  looked  simple  peasants. 
Whoever  they  were,  there  did  not  seem  much  chance  for 
them  or  me,  and  I  said  the  one  Russian  word  I  knew, 
"  Steamer,"  and  indicated  that  I  wanted  to  go  back  there. 
Much  as  I  wanted  to  go  home,  tired  as  I  was  of  travelling,  I 
decided  I  would  postpone  my  railway  jomney  for  a  day  and 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     229 

take  advantage  of  that  comfortable  Russian  custom  that 
allows  you  to  live  on  a  steamer  for  two  days  while  she  is 
in  port.  The  ishvornik  nodded,  back  we  went  helter-skelter 
to  the  wharf  and — ^the  steamer  was  gone  ! 

I  have  had  some  bad  moments  in  my  life,  but  that  one 
stands  out  still.  Why,  I  hardly  know,  for  sitting  here  in 
my  garden  it  does  not  seem  a  very  terrible  thing.  I  had 
plenty  of  money  in  my  pocket  and  there  were  hotels  in 
the  town.  But  no  !  more  than  ever,  safe  here  in  Kent,  do 
I  dread  a  Siberian  hotel !  Then  I  was  distinctly  afraid.  I 
might  so  easily  have  disappeared  and  no  one  would  have 
asked  questions  for  months  to  come.  I  tried  to  tell  the 
boy  I  wanted  to  go  to  one  of  those  dreaded  hotels — ^I  felt 
I  would  have  to  risk  it,  for  I  certainly  could  not  spend  the 
night  in  a  droshky — and  I  could  not  make  him  understand. 
Perhaps,  as  in  Saghalien,  there  were  no  hotels  to  accommodate 
a  woman  of  my  class,  or  perhaps,  as  is  most  probable,  they 
were  all  full  of  soldiers,  anyhow  he  only  looked  at  me  blankly, 
and  Buchanan  and  I  looked  at  each  other.  Buchanan  any- 
how had  no  fears.  He  was  quite  sure  I  could  take  care  of 
him.  I  looked  at  the  boy  again  and  then,  as  if  he  had 
suddenly  had  an  inspiration,  he  drove  me  back  to  the  place 
opposite  the  ferry  whence  we  had  come.  The  soldiers  were 
there  still,  crowds  and  crowds  of  them,  with  their  little 
carts  and  horses,  and  they  were  amusing  themselves  by 
stealing  each  other's  fodder ;  the  ferry  had  come  back,  but 
there  were  no  soldiers  on  it,  only  the  country  people  were 
crowding  down.  I  liad  been  forbidden  to  go  upon  it,  and 
never  should  I  have  dreamt  of  disobeying  orders,  but  my 
driver  had  different  views.  He  waited  till  no  officer  was 
looking,  seized  my  baggage  and  flung  it  down  on  the  great 
ferry  right  in  front  of  the  military  stores,  beside  the  refresh- 
ment stall  where  they  were  selling  sausages  and  bread  in 


230  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

round  rings  such  as  peasants  eat,  and  tea  and  lemonade. 
I  had  not  expected  to  find  so  commonplace  a  thing  on  a  river 
in  Siberia.  Now  I  had  sat  in  that  dilapidated  carriage  for 
over  four  hours  and  I  was  weary  to  death,  also  I  could  not 
afford  to  be  parted  from  my  luggage,  so  I  put  Buchanan 
under  my  arm — it  was  too  muddy  for  him  to  walk — and  fol- 
lowed as  fast  as  I  could.  My  good  angel  prompted  me  to 
pay  that  driver  well.  I  paid  him  twice  what  the  mate  had 
said  it  ought  to  cost  me  if  I  waited  half-a-day,  and  never 
have  I  laid  out  money  to  better  advantage.  He  tm-ned  to  a 
big  man  who  was  standing  by,  a  man  in  sea-boots,  a  red 
belted  blouse  and  the  tall  black  Astrakhan  cap  that  I 
have  always  associated  in  my  own  mind  with  Circassians, 
and  spoke  to  him,  saying  "  Anglisky."  Evidently  he  said 
it  might  be  worth  his  while  to  look  after  me.  I  don't  know 
whether  this  gentleman  was  a  Caucasian,  one  of  the  "  wolves 
of  the  Amur,"  but  whoever  he  was,  he  was  a  very  hefty 
and  capable  individual,  with  a  very  clear  idea  of  what  a 
foreign  lady  ought  to  do,  and  he  promptly  constituted  him- 
self my  guardian. 

After  all,  the  world,  take  it  on  the  whole,  is  a  very  kindly, 
honest  place.  So  many  times  have  I  been  stranded  when  I 
might  quite  easily  have  been  stripped  of  everything,  and 
always  some  good  Samaritan  has  come  to  my  aid,  and  the 
reward,  though  I  did  my  best,  has  never  been  commensurate 
with  the  services  rendered. 

The  ferry  across  the  Shilka  at  Stretensk  is  a  great  affair, 
like  a  young  paddock  afloat,  and  beside  the  horses  and  carts 
upon  it  were  a  number  of  country  people  with  their  bundles. 
I  sat  there  a  little  uncomfortably  because  I  did  not  know 
what  would  happen,  only  I  was  determined  not  to  be  p>arted 
from  my  baggage.  Presently  the  huge  float  drifted  off, 
amidst  wild  shouts  and  yells.    When  I  was  there,  a  great 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     231 

deal  in  Russia  was  done  to  the  accompaniment  of  much 
shouting,  and  I  rather  fancy  that  this  ferry  was  going  off 
on  an  unauthorised  jaunt  of  its  own.  The  Shilka  is  a  broad 
river  here,  a  fortnight's  steamer  journey  from  its  mouth, 
but  the  ferry  came  to  a  full  stop  in  the  middle  of  the  stream 
and  a  motor  boat  which  did  not  look  as  if  it  could  hold  half 
the  people  came  alongside. 

"  Skurry  !  Skurry  !  "  was  the  cry,  and  the  people  began 
leaping  overboard  into  the  boat.  The  military  were  getting 
rid  summarily  of  their  civilian  crowd.  In  a  few  seconds 
that  boat  was  packed  to  the  gunwales  and  I  was  looking 
over  at  it.  I  had  Buchanan  under  my  arm ;  he  was  always 
a  good  little  dog  at  critical  moments,  understanding  it  was 
his  part  to  keep  quiet  and  give  as  little  trouble  as  possible. 
In  my  other  hand  I  had  my  despatch-case,  and,  being  any- 
thing but  acrobatic  by  temperament,  I  felt  it  was  hopeless 
to  think  of  getting  into  it.  If  the  penalty  for  not  doing 
so  had  been  death,  I  do  not  think  I  could  have  managed  it. 
However,  I  didn't  have  a  say  in  the  matter.  The  big  Russian 
in  the  red  blouse  picked  me  up  and  dropped  me,  little  dog, 
box  and  all,  into  the  boat,  right  on  top  of  the  people  already 
there.  First  I  was  on  top,  and  then,  still  hanging  on  to  my 
little  dog,  I  slipped  down  a  little,  but  my  feet  found  no  foot- 
hold; I  was  wedged  between  the  screaming  people.  After 
me,  with  my  luggage  on  his  shoulder,  came  my  guardian,  and 
he  somehow  seemed  to  find  a  very  precarious  foothold  on 
the  gunwale,  and  he  made  me  understand  he  wanted  two 
roubles  for  our  fares.  If  he  had  asked  for  ten  he  would 
have  got  it,  but  how  I  managed  to  get  at  my  money  to  this 
day  I  do  not  know.  The  boat  rocked  and  swayed  in  a  most 
alarming  manner,  and  I  thought  to  myself.  Well,  we  are  on 
top  now,  but  presently  the  boat  will  upset  and  then  we  shall 
certainly  be  underneath.     I  gathered  that  the  passengers 


232  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

were  disputing  with  the  boatman  as  to  the  price  to  be  paid 
for  the  passage  across,  though  this  was  unwise,  for  the  ferry- 
was  threatening  momentarily  to  crush  us  against  the  rocky 
bank.  He  was  asking  sixty  kopecks — a  little  over  a  shilling 
— and  with  one  voice  they  declared  that  forty  was  enough. 
Considering  the  crowd,  forty  I  should  have  thought  would 
have  paid  him  excellently.  That  I  had  given  my  guardian 
more  did  not  trouble  me,  because  any  extra  he  earned  was 
more  than  justified,  for  one  thing  was  certain,  I  could  never 
have  tackled  the  job  by  myself. 

Just  as  I  was  growing  desperate  and  Buchanan  began  to 
mention  that  he  was  on  the  verge  of  suffocation  the  difficulty 
of  the  fares  was  settled  and  we  made  for  the  bank.  But  we 
did  not  go  to  the  usual  landing-stage ;  that,  I  presume,  was 
forbidden  as  sacred  to  the  soldiers,  and  we  drew  up  against 
a  steep,  high  bank  faced  with  granite. 

"  Skurry  !  Skurry  !  "  And  more  than  ever  was  haste 
necessary,  for  it  looked  as  if  the  great  ferry  would  certainly 
crush  us.  The  people  began  scrambling  up.  But  I  was 
helpless.  Whatever  happened,  I  knew  I  could  never  climb 
that  wall.  I  could  only  clutch  my  little  dog  and  await 
events.  My  guardian  was  quite  equal  to  the  situation. 
The  boat  had  cleared  a  little  and  there  was  room  to  move, 
and,  dropping  the  baggage,  he  picked  me  up  like  a  baby  and 
tossed  me,  dog  and  all,  up  on  to  the  bank  above.  WTiether 
that  boat  got  clear  away  from  the  ferry  I  do  not  know. 
"WTien  I  visited  the  place  next  morning  there  were  no 
remains,  so  I  presume  she  did,  but  at  the  time  I  was  gi^'^ng 
all  my  attention  to  catching  a  train. 

My  guardian  engaged  a  boy  to  carry  the  lighter  baggage, 
and  shouldering  the  rest  himself,  he  took  me  by  the  arm  and 
fairly  raced  me  up  the  steep  incline  to  the  railway  station 
that  was  a  seething  mass  of  khaki-clad  men. 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     233 

"  Billet !  Billet !  "  said  he,  wiping  the  sweat  from  his 
streaming  face  and  making  a  way  for  me  among  the  throng- 
ing recruits.  There  was  a  train  coming  in  and  he  evidently 
intended  I  should  catch  it. 

Such  a  crowd  it  was,  and  in  the  railway  station  confusion 
was  worse  confounded.  It  was  packed  with  people — people 
of  the  poorer  class — and  with  soldiers,  and  everyone  was 
giving  his  opinion  of  things  in  general  at  the  top  of  his  voice. 
My  stalwart  guardian  elbowed  a  way  to  the  pigeon-hole, 
still  crying,  "  Billet !  Billet !  "  and  I,  seeing  I  wanted  a 
ticket  to  Petrograd,  produced  a  hundred-rouble  note.  The 
man  inside  pushed  it  away  with  contumely  and  declined  it 
in  various  unknown  tongues.  I  offered  it  again,  and  again 
it  was  thrust  rudely  aside,  my  guardian  becoming  vehement 
in  his  protests,  though  what  he  said  I  have  not  the  faintest 
idea.  I  offered  it  a  third  time,  then  a  man  standing  beside 
me  whisked  it  away  and  whisked  me  away  too. 

"  Madame,  are  you  mad  ?  "  he  asked,  as  Mr  Barentzen  had 
asked  over  a  week  before,  but  he  spoke  in  French,  very 
Russian  French.  And  then  he  proceeded  to  explain  volubly 
that  all  around  were  thieves,  robbers  and  assassins — oh !  the 
land  of  suffering  exiles — ^the  mobilisation  had  called  them  up, 
and  any  one  of  them  would  cut  my  throat  for  a  good  deal 
less  than  a  ten-pound  note.  And  he  promptly  shoved  the 
offending  cash  in  his  pocket.  It  was  the  most  high-handed 
proceeding  I  have  ever  taken  part  in,  and  I  looked  at  him  in 
astonishment.  He  was  a  man  in  a  green  uniform,  wearing 
a  military  cap  with  pipings  of  white  and  magenta,  and  the 
white  and  magenta  were  repeated  on  the  coat  and  trousers. 
On  the  whole,  the  effect  was  reassuring.  A  gentleman  so 
attired  was  reaUy  too  conspicuous  to  be  engaged  in  any  very 
nefarious  occupation. 

He  proceeded  to  explain  that  by  that  train  I  could  not  go. 


234  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

It  was  reserved  for  the  troops.  They  were  turning  out  the 
people  already  in  it.  This  in  a  measure  explained  the  bedlam 
in  the  station.  The  people  who  did  not  want  to  be  landed 
here  and  the  people  who  wanted  to  get  away  were  comparing 
notes,  and  there  were  so  many  of  them  they  had  to  do  it  at 
the  top  of  their  voices. 

"  When  does  the  next  train  go  ?  "  I  asked. 

My  new  friend  looked  dubious.  "  Possibly  to-morrow 
night,"  said  he.    That  was  cheering. 

"  And  where  is  there  a  hotel  ?  " 

He  pointed  across  the  river  to  Stretensk. 

"  Are  there  none  this  side  ?  " 

"  No,  Madame,  not  one." 

I  debated.  Cross  that  river  again  after  all  it  had  cost  me 
to  get  here  I  could  not. 

"  But  where  can  I  stay  ?  " 

He  looked  round  as  if  he  were  offering  palatial  quarters. 

"  Here,  Madame,  here." 

In  the  railway  station ;  there  was  nothing  else  for  it ;  and 
in  that  railway  station  I  waited  till  the  train  came  in  the 
following  evening. 

That  little  matter  settled,  I  turned  to  reward  my  first 
friend  for  his  efforts  on  my  behalf,  and  I  felt  five  roubles 
was  little  enough.  My  new  friend  was  very  scornful,  a 
rouble  was  ample,  he  considered.  He  had  my  ten-pound 
note  in  his  pocket,  and  I  am  afraid  I  was  very  conscious  that 
he  had  not  yet  proved  himself,  whereas  the  other  man  had 
done  me  yeoman's  service,  and  never  have  I  parted  with 
ten  shillings  with  more  satisfaction.  They  were  certainly 
earned. 

After,  I  set  myself  to  make  the  best  of  the  situation. 
The  station  was  crowded  with  all  sorts  and  conditions  of 
people,  and  a  forlorn  crowd  they  looked,  and  curious  was 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA    235 

the  flotsam  and  jetsam  that  were  their  belongings.  Of 
course  there  was  the  usual  travellers'  baggage,  but  there 
were  other  things  too  I  did  not  expect  to  come  across  in  a 
railway  station  in  Siberia.  There  was  a  sewing-macliine ; 
there  was  the  trumpet  part  of  a  gramophone;  there  was 
the  back  of  a  piano  with  all  the  vnres  showing ;  there  was 
a  dressmaker's  stand,  the  stuffed  form  of  a  woman,  looking 
forlorn  and  out  of  place  among  the  bundles  of  the  soldiers. 

But  the  people  accepted  it  as  all  in  the  day's  work,  watched 
the  soldiers  getting  into  the  carriages  from  which  they  were 
debarred,  and  waved  their  hands  and  cheered  them,  though 
the  first  train  that  started  for  anywhere  did  not  leave  till 
one-fifteen  a.m.  next  morning.  They  were  content  that  the 
soldiers  should  be  served  first.  They  settled  themselves 
in  little  companies  on  the  open  platform,  in  the  refreshment- 
room,  in  the  waiting-rooms,  fathers,  mothers,  children  and 
dogs,  and  they  solaced  themselves  with  kettles  of  tea, 
black  bread  and  sausages. 

It  was  all  so  different  from  what  I  had  expected,  so  very 
different,  but  the  first  effect  was  to  bring  home  to  me  forcibly 
the  fact  that  there  was  a  great  struggle  going  on  in  the  West, 
and  Eastern  Siberia  was  being  drawTi  into  the  whirlpool, 
sending  her  best,  whether  they  were  the  exiles  of  my  dreams 
or  the  thieves  and  robbers  my  newest  friend  had  called  them, 
to  help  in  the  struggle !  To  wait  a  night  and  day  in  a 
railway  station  was  surely  a  little  sacrifice  to  what  some 
must  make.  How  cheerfully  and  patiently  that  Siberian 
crowd  waited  !  There  were  no  complaints,  no  moans,  only 
here  and  there  a  woman  buried  her  head  in  her  shawl  and 
wept  for  her  nearest  and  dearest,  gone  to  the  war,  gone  out 
into  the  unknown,  and  she  might  never  see  him  again,  might 
never  even  know  what  became  of  him.  Truly  "  They  also 
serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 


286  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

I  went  into  the  refreshment -room  to  get  some  food,  and 
had  soup  with  sour  cream  in  it,  and  ate  chicken  and  bread 
and  butter  and  cucumber  and  drank  kvass  as  a  change  from 
the  eternal  tea.  I  watched  the  people  on  the  platform 
and  as  the  shades  of  night  fell  began  to  wonder  where  I 
should  sleep.  I  would  have  chosen  the  platform,  but  it 
looked  as  if  it  might  rain,  so  I  went  into  the  ladies'  waiting- 
room,  dragged  a  seat  across  the  open  window,  and  spread 
out  my  rugs  and  cushions  and  established  myself  there.  I 
wanted  to  have  first  right  to  that  window,  for  the  night  up 
in  the  hills  here  was  chilly  and  I  felt  sure  somebody  would 
come  in  and  want  to  shut  it.  My  intuitions  were  correct. 
Buchanan  and  I  kept  that  open  window  against  a  crowd. 
Everybody  who  came  in — and  the  room  was  soon  packed — 
wanted  to  shut  it.  They  stretched  over  me  and  I  arose  from 
my  slumbers  and  protested.  For,  in  addition  to  a  crowd, 
the  sanitary  arrangements  were  abominable,  and  what  the 
atmosphere  would  have  been  like  with  the  window  shut  I 
tremble  to  think.  I  remembered  the  tales  of  the  pestilential 
resthouses  into  which  the  travelling  exiles  had  been  thrust, 
and  I  was  thankful  for  that  window,  thankful  too  that  it 
was  summer-time,  for  in  winter  I  suppose  we  would  have  had 
to  shut  it.  At  last  one  woman  pulled  at  my  rugs  and  said — 
though  I  could  not  understand  her  language  her  meaning 
was  plain  enough — that  it  was  all  very  well  for  me,  I  had 
plenty  of  rugs,  it  was  they  who  had  nothing.  It  was  a 
fair  complaint,  so  with  many  qualms  I  shared  my  rugs  and 
the  summer  night  slowly  wore  to  morning. 

And  morning  brought  its  own  difficulties.  Russian 
washing  arrangements  to  me  are  always  difficult.  I  had 
met  them  first  in  Kharbin  in  the  house  of  Mr  Poland.  I 
wrestled  with  the  same  thing  in  the  house  of  the  Chief  of 
Police  in  Saghalien,  and  I  met  it  in  an  aggravated  form  here 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     237 

in  the  railway  station  waiting-room.  A  Russian  basin  has 
not  a  plug — it  is  supposed  to  be  cleaner  to  wash  in  running 
water — and  the  tap  is  a  twirly  affair  with  two  spouts,  and 
on  pressing  a  little  lever  water  gushes  out  of  both  and, 
theoretically,  you  may  direct  it  where  you  please.  Practic- 
ally I  found  that  while  I  was  duecting  one  stream  of  water 
down  on  to  my  hands,  the  other  hit  me  in  the  eye  or  the  ear, 
and  when  I  got  that  right  the  first  took  advantage  of 
inattention  and  deluged  me  round  the  waist.  It  may  be 
my  inexperience,  but  I  do  not  like  Russian  basins.  It  was 
running  water  with  a  vengeance,  it  all  ran  away. 

However,  I  did  the  best  I  could,  and  after,  as  my  face  was 
a  httle  rough  and  sore  from  the  hot  sun  of  the  day  before, 
I  took  out  a  jar  of  hazeline  cream  and  began  to  rub  it  on 
my  cheeks.  This  proceeding  aroused  intense  interest  in  the 
women  around,  ^\llat  they  imagined  the  cream  was  for  I 
don't  know,  but  one  and  all  they  came  and  begged  some, 
and  as  long  as  that  pot  held  out  every  woman  within  range 
had  hazeline  cream  daubed  on  her  weather-beaten  cheeks, 
and  they  omitted  to  rub  it  off,  apparently  considering 
it  ornamental.  However,  hazeline  cream  is  a  pleasant 
preparation. 

Having  dressed,  Buchanan  and  I  had  the  long  day  before 
us,  and  I  did  not  dare  leave  the  railway  station  to  explore 
because  I  was  uneasy  about  my  luggage.  I  had  had  it  put 
in  the  corner  of  the  refreshment -room  and  as  far  as  I  could 
see  no  one  was  responsible  for  it,  and  as  people  were  coming 
and  going  the  livelong  day  I  felt  bound  to  keep  an  eye 
uj>on  it.  I  also  awaited  with  a  good  deal  of  interest  the 
gentleman  with  the  variegated  uniform  and  my  ten-pound 
note.  He  came  at  last,  and  explained  in  French  that  he  had 
got  the  change  but  he  could  not  give  it  to  me  till  the  train 
came  in  because  of  the  thieves  and  robbers,  as  if  he  would 


288  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

insist  upon  tearing  the  veil  of  romance  I  had  wrapped  round 
Siberia.  And  God  forgive  me  that  I  doubted  the  honesty 
of  a  very  kindly,  courteous  gentleman. 

It  was  a  long,  long  day  because  there  was  really  nothing  to 
do  save  to  walk  about  for  Buchanan's  benefit,  and  I  diversified 
things  by  taking  odd  meals  in  the  refreshment -room  when- 
ever I  felt  I  really  must  do  something.  But  I  was  very 
tired.  I  began  to  feel  I  had  been  travelling  too  long,  and  I 
really  think  if  it  had  not  been  for  Buchanan's  sympathy  I 
should  have  wept.  No  one  seemed  at  all  certain  when  the 
next  train  west  might  be  expected,  opinions,  judging  by 
fingers  pointing  at  the  clock,  varying  between  two  o'clock 
in  the  afternoon  and  three  o'clock  next  morning.  How- 
ever, as  the  evening  shadows  were  beginning  to  fall  a  train 
did  come  in,  and  my  friend  in  uniform,  suddenly  appearing, 
declared  it  was  the  western  train.  Taking  me  by  the  hand, 
he  led  me  into  a  carriage  and,  shutting  the  door  and  drawing 
down  the  blinds,  placed  in  my  hands  change  for  my  ten-poimd 
note. 

"  Guard  your  purse,  Madame,"  said  he,  "  guard  your  purse. 
There  are  thieves  and  robbers  everywhere  !  " 

So  all  the  way  across  Siberia  had  I  been  warned  of  the 
unsafe  condition  of  the  country.  At  Kharbin,  at  Nikolayeusk, 
at  Blagoveschensk  men  whose  good  faith  I  could  not  doubt 
assured  me  that  a  ten-pound  note  and  helplessness  was  quite 
likely  to  spell  a  sudden  and  ignominious  end  to  my  career, 
and  this  was  in  the  days  when  no  one  doubted  the  power 
of  the  Tsar,  a  bitter  commentary  surely  on  an  autocracy. 
What  the  condition  of  Siberia  must  be  now,  with  rival 
factions  fighting  up  and  down  the  land,  and  released  German 
prisoners  throwing  the  weight  of  their  strength  in  with  the 
Bolshevists,  I  tremble  to  think. 

When  he  made  sure  I  had  carefully  hidden  my  money 


MOBILISING  IN  EASTERN  SIBERIA     239 

and  thoroughly  realised  the  gravity  of  the  situation,  my 
friend  offered  to  get  my  ticket,  a  second-class  ticket,  he 
suggested.  I  demurred.  I  am  not  rich  and  am  not  above 
saving  my  pennies,  but  a  first-class  ticket  was  so  cheap,  and 
ensured  so  much  more  privacy,  that  a  second-class  was  an 
economy  I  did  not  feel  inclined  to  make.  He  pointed  round 
the  carriage  in  which  we  were  seated.  Was  this  not  good 
enough  for  anyone  ?  It  was.  I  had  to  admit  it,  and  the 
argument  was  clinched  by  the  fact  that  there  was  not  a 
first-class  carriage  on  the  train.  The  ticket  only  cost  about 
five  pounds  and  another  pound  bought  a  ticket  for  Buchanan. 
We  got  in — my  friend  in  need  got  in  vnth  me,  that  misjudged 
friend ;  it  seemed  he  was  the  stationmaster  at  a  little  place 
a  little  way  down  the  line — and  we  were  fairly  off  on  our  road 
to  the  West. 


CHAPTER  XV 

ON  A   RUSSIAN   MILITARY  TRAIN 

I  WAS  in  the  train  at  last,  fairly  on  my  way  home,  and  I  was 
glad.  But  I  wasn't  glad  for  very  long.  I  began  to  wish 
myself  back  in  the  railway  station  at  Stretensk,  where  at 
least  I  had  fresh  air.  At  fiist  I  had  the  window  open  and 
a  corner  seat.  There  are  only  two  people  on  a  seat  in  a 
Russian  long-distance  train,  because  when  night  falls  they 
let  down  the  seat  above,  which  makes  a  bunk  for  the  second 
person.  But  I  was  second  class  and  my  compartment 
opened  without  a  door  into  the  other  compartments  in  the 
carriage,  also  two  more  bunks  appeared  crossways,  and  they 
were  all  filled  with  people.  We  were  four  women,  two  men 
who  smoked,  a  baby  who  cried,  and  my  little  dog.  I  spread 
out  my  rugs  and  cushions,  and  when  I  wanted  the  window 
open  the  majority  were  against  me.  Not  only  was  the 
window  shut,  but  every  ventilating  arrangement  was 
tightly  closed  also,  and  presently  the  atmosphere  was  pesti- 
lential. I  grew  desperate.  I  wandered  out  of  the  carriage 
and  got  on  to  the  platform  at  the  end,  where  the  cold  wind 
— ^for  all  it  was  August — cut  me  like  a  knife.  The  people 
objected  to  that  cold  wind  coming  in,  and  the  next  time  I 
wandered  out  for  a  breath  of  fresh  air  I  found  the  door  barred 
and  no  prayers  of  mine  would  open  it.  In  that  carriage  the 
people  were  packed  like  sardines,  but  though  I  was  three- 
quarters  suffocated  no  one  else  seemed  at  all  the  worse.  I 
couldn't  have  looked  at  breakfast  next  morning,  but  the 
rest  of  the  company  preened  themselves  and  fed  cheerfully 

240 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       241 

from  the  baskets  they  carried.  Then,  at  last  I  found  a 
student  going  to  a  Western  Siberian  university  who  spoke 
a  little  French  and  through  him  I  told  the  authorities  that 
if  I  could  not  be  transferred  to  a  first-class  carriage  I  was 
to  be  left  behind  at  the  next  station.  I  had  spent  a  night 
in  a  station  and  I  knew  all  about  it ;  it  wasn't  nice,  but  it 
was  infinitely  preferable  to  a  night  in  a  crowded  second- 
class  carriage. 

After  a  little  while  the  train  master  came  and  with  the 
aid  of  the  student  informed  me  that  there  would  be  a  first- 
class  carriage  a  little  farther  on  and  if  there  was  room  I 
should  go  in  it,  also  we  would  know  in  an  hour  or  so. 

So  I  bore  up,  and  at  a  little  town  in  the  hills  I  was  taken 
to  a  first-class  compartment.    There  were  three — that  is,  six 
bunks — making  up  half  of  a  second-class  carriage,  and  they 
were  most  luxurious,  with  mirrors  and  washing  arrangements 
complete.    The  one  I  entered  was  already  occupied  by  a 
very  stout  woman  who,  though  we  did  not  know  any  tongue 
in  common,  made  me  understand  she  was  going  to  a  place 
we  would  reach  next  morning  for  an  operation,  and  she 
apologised — most  unnecessarily  but  most  courteously — ^for 
making  me  take  the  top  bunk.     She  had  a  big  Irish  setter 
with  her  whom  she  called  "  Box  " — "  Anglisky,"  as  she  said 
— and  "  Box  "  was  by  no  means  as  courteous  and  friendly  as 
his  mistress,  and  not  only  objected  to  Buchanan's  presence 
but  said  so  in  no  measured  terms.     I  had  to  keep  my  little 
dog  up  on  the  top  bunk  all  the  time,  where  he  peered  over 
and  whimpered  protestingly  at  intervals.     There  was  one 
drawback,  and  so  kind  and  hospitable  was  my  stable  com- 
panion that  I  hardly  liked  to  mention  it,  but  the  atmosphere 
in  that   compartment  you  could  have  cut  with  a  knife. 
Wildly  I  endeavom*ed  to  open  the  windows,  and  she  looked 
at  me  in  astonishment.    But  I  was  so  vehement  that  the 
Q 


242  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

student  was  once  more  brought  along  to  inteipret,  and  then 
everybody  took  a  turn  at  trying  to  open  that  window.  I 
must  say  I  think  it  was  exceedingly  kind  and  hospitable 
of  them,  for  these  people  certainly  shrank  from  the  dangers 
of  a  draught  quite  as  much  as  I  did  from  the  stuffiness  of  a 
shut  window.  But  it  was  all  to  no  purpose.  That  window 
had  evidently  never  been  opened  since  the  carriage  was 
made  and  it  held  on  gallantly  to  the  position  it  had  taken 
up.  They  consulted  together,  and  at  length  the  student 
turned  to  me : 

"  Calm  yourself,  Madame,  calm  yom-self ;  a  man  will  come 
with  an  instrument."  And  three  stations  farther  down  the 
line  a  man  did  appear  with  an  instrument  and  opened  that 
window,  and  I  drew  in  deep  breaths  of  exceedingly  dusty 
fresh  air. 

The  lady  in  possession  and  I  shared  our  breakfast.  She 
made  the  tea,  and  she  also  cleaned  out  the  kettle  by  the 
simple  process  of  emptying  the  tea  leaves  into  the  wash-hand 
basin.  That,  as  far  as  I  saw,  was  the  only  use  she  made  of 
the  excellent  washing  arrangements  supplied  by  the  railway. 
But  it  is  not  for  me  to  carp,  she  was  so  kind,  and  bravely 
stood  dusty  wind  blowing  through  the  compartment  all 
night  just  because  I  did  not  like  stuffiness.  And  when  she 
was  gone,  O  luxuiy  !  Buchanan  and  I  had  the  caniage 
to  om'selves  all  the  way  to  Irkutsk. 

And  this  was  Siberia.  We  were  going  West,  slowly  it  is 
true,  but  with  wonderful  swiftness  I  felt  when  I  remembered 
— and  how  should  I  not  remember  every  moment  of  the  time  ? 
— ^that  this  was  the  gi-eat  and  sorrowful  road  along  wliich 
the  exiles  used  to  march,  that  the  sunmier  sun  would  scorch 
them,  these  great  plains  Mould  be  snow-covered  and  the 
biting,  bitter  wind  would  freeze  them  long  before  they 
reached  their  destination.    I  looked  ahead  into  the  West 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       243 

longingly  ;  but  I  was  going  there,  would  be  there  in  less  than 
a  fortnight  at  the  most,  while  their  reluctant  feet  had  taken 
them  slowly,  the  days  stretched  into  weeks,  the  weeks  into 
months,  and  they  were  still  tramping  east  into  an  exile  that 
for  all  they  knew  would  be  lifelong.  Ah !  but  this  road 
must  have  been  watered  with  blood  and  tears.  Every  river, 
whether  they  were  fen-ied  over  it  or  went  across  on  the  ice, 
must  have  seemed  an  added  barrier  to  the  man  or  woman 
thinking  of  escape ;  eveiy  forest  would  mean  for  them 
either  shelter  or  danger,  possibly  both,  for  I  had  not  forgotten 
the  tigers  of  the  Amur  and  the  bears  and  wolves  that  are 
farther  west.  And  yet  the  steppes,  those  hopeless  plains, 
must  have  afforded  still  less  chance  of  escape. 

Oh !  my  early  ideas  were  right  after  aU.  Nature  was 
jailer  enough  here  in  Siberia.  Men  did  escape,  we  know, 
but  many  more  must  have  perished  in  the  attempt,  and 
many,  many  must  have  resigned  themselves  to  their  bitter 
fate,  for  surely  aU  the  forces  of  earth  and  air  and  sky  had 
ranged  themselves  on  the  side  of  the  Tsar.  This  beautiful 
country,  and  men  had  marched  along  it  in  chains  ! 

At  Chita,  greatly  to  my  surprise,  my  sotnik  of  Cossacks 
joined  the  train,  and  we  greeted  each  other  as  old  friends. 
Indeed  I  was  pleased  to  see  his  smiling  face  again,  and 
Buchanan  benefited  largely,  for  many  a  time  when  I  was 
not  able  to  take  him  out  for  a  little  run  our  friend  came 
along  and  did  it  for  us. 

The  platforms  at  Siberian  stations  are  short  and  this 
troop  train,  packed  with  soldiers,  was  long,  so  that  many  a 
time  our  carriage  never  drew  up  at  the  platform  at  all. 
This  meant  that  the  carriage  was  usually  five  feet  from  the 
ground,  and  often  more.  I  am  a  little  Moman  and  five  feet 
was  all  I  could  manage,  when  it  was  more  it  was  beyond  me. 
Of  course  I  could  have  dropped  down,  but  it  would  have 


244  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

been  impossible  to  haul  myself  up  again,  to  say  nothing  of 
getting  Buchanan  on  board.  A  Russian  post  train — and  this 
troop  train  was  managed  to  all  intents  and  purposes  as  a 
post  train — stops  at  stations  along  the  line  so  that  the 
passengers  may  get  food,  and  five  minutes  before  it  starts 
it  rings  a  "  Make  ready  "  bell  one  minute  before  it  rings  a 
second  bell,  "  Take  your  seats,"  and  with  a  third  bell  off  the 
train  goes.  And  it  would  have  gone  inexorably  even  though 
I,  having  climbed  down,  had  been  unable  to  climb  up  again. 
Deeply  grateful  then  were  Buchanan  and  I  to  the  soinik 
of  Cossacks,  who  recognised  our  limitations  and  never 
forgot  us. 

I  liked  these  Russian  post  trains  far  better  than  the  train 
de  luxe,  with  its  crowd  and  its  comforts  and  its  cosmopolitan 
atmosphere.  A  Russian  post  train  in  those  days  had  an 
atmosphere  of  its  own.  It  was  also  much  cheaper.  From 
Stretensk  to  Petrograd,  including  Buchanan,  the  cost  was 
a  little  over  nine  pounds  for  the  tickets,  and  I  bought  my 
food  by  the  way.  It  was  excellent  and  very  cheap.  All 
the  things  I  had  bought  in  Kharbin,  especially  the  kettles, 
came  into  use  once  more.  The  moment  the  train  stopped 
out  tumbled  the  soldiers,  crowds  and  crowds  of  them,  and 
raced  for  the  provision  stalls  and  for  the  large  boilers  full 
of  water  that  are  a  feature  of  every  Russian  station  on  the 
overland  line.  These  boileis  are  always  enclosed  in  a  build- 
ing just  outside  the  railway  station,  and  the  spouts  for  the 
boiling  water,  two,  three  and  sometimes  four  in  a  row,  come 
out  through  the  walls.  Beside  every  spout  is  an  iron  handle 
which,  being  pulled,  brings  the  boiling  water  gushing  out. 
Russia  even  in  those  days  before  the  revolution  struck  me  as 
strangely  democratic,  for  the  soldiers,  the  non-commissioned 
officers,  the  officers  and  everj^one  else  on  the  train  mingled 
in  the  struggle  for  hot  water.    I  could  never  have  got  mine 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       245 

filled,  but  my  Cossack  friend  always  remembered  me  and 
if  he  did  not  come  himself  sent  someone  to  get  my  kettles. 
Indeed  everyone  vied  in  being  kind  to  the  Englishwoman, 
to  show,  I  think,  their  good  wiU  to  the  only  representative 
of  the  Allied  nation  on  the  train. 

It  was  at  breakfast -time  one  warm  morning  I  first  made 
the  acquaintance  of  "  that  very  great  officer,"  as  the  others 
called  him,  the  captain  of  the  Ashold.  He  was  in  full  naval 
uniform,  and  at  that  time  I  was  not  accustomed  to  seeing 
naval  officers  in  uniform  outside  their  ships,  and  he  was 
racing  along  the  platform,  a  little  teapot  in  one  hand,  intent 
on  filling  it  with  hot  water  to  make  coffee.  He  was  not 
ashamed  to  pause  and  come  to  the  assistance  of  a  foreigner 
whom  he  considered  the  peasants  were  shamefully  over- 
charging. They  actually  wanted  her  to  pay  a  farthing  a 
piece  for  their  largest  cucumbers  !  He  spoke  French  and 
so  we  were  able  to  communicate,  and  he  was  kind  enough  to 
take  an  interest  in  me  and  declare  that  he  himself  would 
provide  me  with  cucumbers.  He  got  me  four  large  ones 
and  when  I  wanted  to  repay  him  he  laughed  and  said 
it  was  hardly  necessary  as  they  only  cost  a  halfpenny  I 
He  had  the  compartment  next  to  mine  and  that  morning 
he  sent  me  in  a  glass  of  coffee — we  didn't  run  to  cups  on 
that  train.  Excellent  coffee  it  was  too.  Indeed  I  was 
overwhelmed  with  provisions.  One  woman  does  not  want 
very  much  to  eat,  but  unless  I  supplied  myself  liberally  and 
made  it  patent  to  all  that  I  had  enough  and  more  than 
enough  I  was  sure  to  be  supplied  by  my  neighbours  out  of 
friendship  for  my  nation.  From  the  Cossack  officer,  from  a 
Hussar  officer  and  his  wife  who  had  come  up  from  Ugra  in 
Mongolia,  and  from  the  captain  of  the  Askold  I  was  always 
receivirig  presents.  Chickens,  smoked  fish — very  greasy,  in  a 
sheet  of  paper,  eaten  raw  and  very  excellent — raspberries 


246  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

and  blue  berries,  to  say  nothing  of  cucumbers,  were  rained 
upon  me. 

At  some  stations  there  was  a  buffet  and  little  tables  set 
about  where  the  first  and  second  class  passengers  could  sit 
down  and  have  dSjeuner,  or  dinner,  but  oftener,  especially 
in  the  East,  we  all  dashed  out,  first,  second  and  third  class, 
and  at  little  stalls  presided  over  by  women  with  kerchiefs 
on  their  heads  and  sturdy  bare  feet,  women  that  were  a  joy 
to  me  after  the  effete  women  of  China,  bought  what  we 
wanted,  took  it  back  with  us  into  the  carriages  and  there 
ate  it.  I  had  all  my  table  things  in  a  basket,  including  a 
little  saucer  for  Buchanan.  It  was  an  exceedingly  economical 
arrangement,  and  I  have  seldom  enjoyed  food  more.  The 
bread  and  butter  was  excellent.  You  could  buy  fine 
white  bread,  and  bread  of  varying  quality  to  the  coarse 
black  bread  eaten  by  the  peasant,  and  I  am  bound  to  say  I 
very  much  like  fine  white  bread.  There  was  delicious  cream ; 
there  were  raspberries  and  blue  berries  to  be  bought  for  a 
trifle  ;  there  were  lemons  for  the  tea  ;  there  was  German  beet 
sugar ;  there  were  roast  chickens  at  sixpence  apiece,  little 
pasties  very  excellent  for  twopence -halfpenny,  and  rapchicks, 
a  delicious  little  bird  a  little  larger  than  a  partridge,  could 
be  bought  for  fivepence,  and  sometimes  there  was  plenty  of 
honey.  Milk,  if  a  bottle  were  provided,  could  be  had  for 
a  penny -farthing  a  quart,  and  my  neighbours  soon  saw  that 
I  did  not  commit  the  extravagance  of  paying  thiee  times 
as  much  for  it,  which  was  what  it  cost  if  you  bought  the 
bottle. 

The  English,  they  said,  were  very  rich  1  and  they  were 
confirmed  in  their  belief  when  they  found  how  I  bought 
milk.  Hard-boiled  eggs  were  to  be  had  in  any  quantity, 
two  and  sometimes  three  for  a  penny -farthing.  I  am  reckon- 
ing the  kopeck  as  a  fartliing.    These  were  first-class  prices, 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       247 

the  soldiers  bought  much  more  cheaply.  Enough  meat  to 
last  a  man  a  day  could  be  bought  for  a  penny-farthing,  and 
good  meat  too — such  meat  nowadays  I  should  pay  at  least 
five  shillings  for. 

Was  all  this  abundance  because  the  exiles  had  tramped 
wearily  across  the  steppes  ?  How  much  hand  had  they  had 
in  the  settling  of  the  country  ?  I  asked  myself  the  question 
many  times,  but  nowhere  found  an  answer.  The  stations 
were  generaUy  crowded,  but  the  country  round  was  as  empty 
as  it  had  been  along  the  Amur. 

And  the  train  went  steadily  on.  Very  slowly  though — 
we  only  went  at  the  rate  of  three  hundred  versts  a  day, 
why,  I  do  not  know.  Tliere  we  stuck  at  platforms  where 
there  was  nothing  to  do  but  walk  up  and  do^\Ti  and  look 
at  the  parallel  rails  coming  out  of  the  East  on  the  horizon 
and  running  away  into  the  West  on  the  horizon  again. 

"  We  shall  never  arrive,"  I  said  impatiently. 

"  Ah  !  Madame,  we  arrive,  we  arrive,"  said  the  Hussar 
officer,  and  he  spoke  a  little  sadly.  And  then  I  remembered 
that  for  him  arrival  meant  parting  with  his  comely  young 
wife  and  his  little  son.  They  had  with  them  a  fox-terrier 
whom  I  used  to  ask  into  my  compartment  to  play  with 
Buchanan,  and  they  called  him  "  Sport." 

"  An  English  name,"  they  said  smilingly.  If  ever  I  have 
a  fox-terrier  I  shall  call  him  "  Sport,"  in  kindly  remembrance 
of  the  owners  of  the  little  friend  I  made  on  that  long,  long 
journey  across  the  Old  World.  And  the  Hussar  officer's 
wife,  I  put  it  on  record,  liked  fresh  air  as  much  as  I  did 
myself.  As  I  walked  up  and  down  the  train,  even  though  it 
was  warm  summer  weather,  I  always  knew  our  two  caiTiages 
because  in  spite  of  the  dust  we  had  our  windows  open.  The 
rest  of  the  passengers  shut  theirs  most  carefully.  The  second 
class  were  packed,  and  the  third  class  were  simply  on  top 


248  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

of  one  another — I  should  not  think  they  could  have  inserted 
another  baby — and  the  reek  that  came  from  the  open  doors 
and  that  hung  about  the  people  that  came  out  of  them  was 
disgusting. 

I  used  to  ask  my  Cossack  friend  to  tea  sometimes — I  could 
always  buy  cakes  by  the  wayside — and  he  was  the  only 
person  I  ever  met  who  took  salt  with  his  tea.  He  assured 
me  the  Mongolians  always  did  so,  but  I  must  say  though  I 
have  tried  tea  in  many  ways  I  don't  like  that  custom. 

In  Kobdo,  ten  thousand  feet  among  the  mountains  in  the 
west  of  Mongolia,  was  a  great  lama,  and  the  Cossack  was  full 
of  this  man's  prophecy. 

Three  emperors,  said  the  lama,  would  fight.  One  would 
be  overwhelmed  and  utterly  destroyed,  the  other  would 
lose  immense  sums  of  money,  and  the  third  would  have 
great  glory. 

"  The  Tsar,  Madame,"  said  my  friend,  "  the  Tsar,  of 
course,  is  the  third." 

I  wonder  what  part  he  took  in  the  revolution.  He  was 
a  Bait,  a  man  from  the  Baltic  Provinces,  heart  and  soul  with 
the  Poles,  and  he  did  not  even  call  himself  a  Russian.  Well, 
the  Tsar  has  been  overwhelmed,  but  which  is  the  one  who 
is  to  have  great  glory  ?  After  all,  the  present  is  no  very 
great  time  for  kings  and  emperors.  I  am  certainly  not 
taking  any  stock  in  them  as  a  whole.  Perhaps  that  lama 
meant  the  President  of  the  United  States  ! 

We  went  round  Lake  Baikal,  and  the  Holy  Se^,  that  I 
had  seen  before  one  hard  plain  of  glittering  ice,  lay  glittering 
now,  beautiful  still  in  the  August  sunshine.  There  were 
white  sails  on  it  and  a  steamer  or  two,  and  men  were 
feverishly  working  at  alterations  on  the  railway.  The 
Angara  ran  swiftly,  a  mighty  river,  and  we  steamed  along 
it  into  the  Irkutsk  station,  which  is  by  no  means  Irkutsk, 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       249 

for  the  town  is — Russian  fashion — four  miles  away  on  the 
other  side  of  the  river. 

At  Irkutsk  it  seemed  to  me  we  began  to  be  faintly  Western 
figain.  And  the  exiles  who  had  come  so  far  I  suppose 
abandoned  hope  here.  All  that  they  loved — all  their  life — 
lay  behind.  I  should  have  found  it  hard  to  turn  back  and 
go  east  myself  now.  ^Vhat  must  that  facing  east  have  been 
for  them  ? 

They  turned  us  out  of  the  train,  and  Buchanan  and  I  were 
ruefully  surveying  our  possessions,  heaped  upon  the  platform, 
wondering  how  on  earth  we  were  to  get  them  taken  to  the 
cloakroom  and  how  we  should  get  them  out  again  supposing 
they  were  taken,  when  the  captain  of  the  Askold  appeared 
with  a  porter. 

"  Would  Madame  permit,"  he  asked,  not  as  if  he  were 
conferring  a  favour,  "  that  her  luggage  be  put  with  mine  in 
the  cloakroom  ?  " 

Madame  could  have  hugged  him.  Already  the  dusk  was 
falling,  the  soft,  warm  dusk,  and  the  people  were  hastening 
to  the  town  or  to  the  refreshment -rooms.  There  would  be 
no  train  that  night,  said  my  kind  friend,  some  time  in  the 
morning  perhaps,  but  certainly  not  that  night.  I  sighed. 
Again  I  was  adrift,  and  it  was  not  a  comfortable  feeling. 

If  Madame  desired  to  dine Madame  did  desire  to  dine. 

Then  if  Madame  permits Of  course  Madame  permitted. 

She  was  most  grateful.  And  we  dined  together  at  the  same 
table  outside  the  station  restaurant — I  like  that  fashion  of 
dining  outside — under  the  brilliant  glare  of  the  electric  light. 
He  ai-ranged  everything  for  me,  even  to  getting  some  supper 
for  Buchanan.  And  I  forgot  the  exiles  who  had  haunted 
me,  forgot  this  was  Siberia.  Here  in  the  restaurant,  save 
for  the  Tartar  waiters,  it  might  almost  have  been  France. 

"  Perhaps,"  said  my  companion  comteously  as  we  were 


250  A  BROICEN  JOURNEY 

having  coffee,  "  Madame  would  care  to  come  to  my  hotel. 
I  could  interpret  for  her  and  here  no  one  speaks  anything 
but  Russian." 

Again  I  could  have  hugged  him.  I  intimated  my  dressing- 
bag  was  in  the  cloakroom,  but  he  smiled  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders. 

"  For  one  night !  " 

He  himself  had  nothing,  so  there  and  then  we  got  into  one 
of  the  usual  decrepit  landaus  and  went  to  the  town,  to 
Irkutsk  on  the  Angara,  in  the  heart  of  Siberia.  If  in  my 
girlish  days  when  I  studied  the  atlas  of  the  world  so  carefully 
I  could  have  known  that  one  day  I  should  be  driving  into 
Irkutsk,  that  map  would  have  been  glorified  for  ever  and  a 
day ;  but  I  could  never  have  realised,  never,  that  it  would  be 
set  in  a  summer  land,  warm  as  my  own  country,  and  that 
I  should  feel  it  a  gi*eat  step  on  towards  the  civilisation  of 
the  West. 

It  was  night,  and  here  and  there  clustering  electric  lights 
glittered  like  diamonds,  making  darker  the  spaces  in  between. 
In  the  morning  I  saw  that  the  capital  of  Eastern  Siberia, 
like  all  the  other  towns  of  that  country,  is  a  regular  frontier 
town.  There  were  the  same  wide  streets  grass-grown  at  the 
edges,  great  houses  and  small  houses  side  by  side,  and  empty 
spaces  where  as  yet  there  were  no  houses.  We  went  to  the 
Central  Hotel. 

"  I  do  not  go  to  an  expensive  hotel,"  my  companion  told 
me,  "  this  is  a  moderate  one." 

But  if  it  were  moderate  it  certainly  was  a  very  large  and 
nice  hotel.  Russian  hotels  do  not  as  a  rule  provide  food, 
the  restaurant  is  generally  separate,  but  we  had  already 
dined.  That  naval  officer  made  all  arrangements  for  me. 
He  even  explained  to  an  astonished  chamber-maid  ^^'ith  her 
hair  done  in  two  long  plaits  that  I  must  have  all  the  windows 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       251 

open  and  when  I  tried  for  a  bath  did  his  best  for  me.  But 
again,  he  explained,  Russians  as  a  rule  go  to  a  bath-house, 
and  there  was  only  one  bathroom  in  this  hotel ;  it  had  been 
engaged  for  two  hours  by  a  gentleman,  and  he  thought,  seeing 
I  should  have  to  start  early  in  the  morning,  it  might  be  rather 
late  for  me  to  have  a  bath  then,  but  if  I  liked  in  the  morning 
it  would  be  at  my  service. 

If  anyone  had  told  me  in  the  old  days  that  going  to 
Irkutsk  I  should  be  deeply  interested  in  a  bath ! 

I  engaged  that  bath  for  an  hour  in  the  morning  as  that 
seemed  to  be  the  correct  thing  to  do.  Then  I  went  to  bed 
and  heartily  envied  Buchanan,  who  did  not  have  to  bother 
about  toilet  arrangements. 

In  the  morning  early  there  was  a  knock  at  the  door  and 
when  I  said  "  Come  in,"  half  expecting  tea,  there  was  my 
naval  officer  in  full  uniform  smilingly  declaring  my  bath 
was  ready,  he  had  paid  the  bill,  and  I  could  pay  him  back 
when  we  were  on  board  the  train.  Tlie  chamber-maid,  ^Nath 
her  hair  still  done  in  two  plaits — I  rather  fancy  she  had  slept 
in  them — conducted  me  to  the  bathroom,  and  I  pass  over  the 
difficulty  of  doing  without  brush  and  comb  and  tooth-brush. 
But  I  washed  the  dust  out  of  my  hair,  and  when  I  was  as 
tidy  as  I  could  manage  I  joined  the  captain  of  the  Askold 
and  we  drove  back  through  the  to^vn  to  the  railway  station. 

The  station  was  a  surging  mass  of  people  all  talking  at 
once,  and  all,  I  suppose,  objurgating  the  railway  management, 
but  we  two  had  breakfast  together  in  the  pleasant  smilight. 
We  had  fresh  rolls  and  butter  and  coffee  and  cream  and 
honey — ^I  ask  no  better  breakfast  when  these  tilings  are 
good — and  meanwhile  people,  officials,  came  and  went,  dis- 
cussing evidently  some  important  matter  with  my  friend. 
He  departed  for  a  moment,  and  then  the  others  that  I  had 
known  came  up,  my  Cossack  friend  and  the  Hussar  officer,  and 


252  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

told  me  that  the  outgoing  train  was  a  military  train,  it  would 
be  impossible  for  a  woman,  a  civilian  and  a  foreigner  at  that, 
to  go  on  it.  I  said  the  captain  of  the  Askold  had  assured  me 
I  could,  and  they  shook  their  heads  and  then  said  hopefully, 
well,  he  was  a  very  great  officer,  the  captain  of  a  ship,  and  I 
realised  that  no  lesser  authority  could  possibly  have  managed 
this  thing  for  me.  And  even  he  was  doubtful,  for  when  he 
came  back  and  resmned  his  interrupted  breakfast  he  said  : 

"The  train  is  full.  The  military  authorities  will  not 
allow  you  on  board." 

That  really  did  seem  to  me  tragedy  at  the  moment.  I 
forgot  the  sorrowful  people  who  would  gladly  enough  have 
stayed  their  journey  at  Irkutsk.  But  their  faces  were  set 
East.  I  forgot  that  after  all  a  day  or  two  out  of  a  life  would 
not  matter  very  much,  or  rather  I  think  I  hated  to  part 
from  these  kindly  friends  I  had  made  on  the  train.  I  suppose 
I  looked  my  disappointment. 

"  Wait.  Wait.  It  is  not  yet  finished,"  said  my  friend 
kindly.  "  They  give  me  two  compartments  " — ^I  felt  then 
he  was  indeed  "  a  very  great  officer,"  for  the  people  were 
packed  in  that  train,  tier  upon  tier,  like  herrings  in  a  barrel 
— "  and  I  cannot  sleep  in  four  bunks.     It  is  ridiculous." 

That  may  have  been,  but  it  was  kindness  itself  of  him  to 
establish  a  stranger  in  one  of  those  compartments.  It  was 
most  comfortable,  and  Buchanan  and  I  being  established, 
and  my  luggage  having  come  safely  to  hand,  I  proceeded  to 
make  the  most  of  the  brush  and  comb  that  had  come  once 
more  into  my  possession,  and  I  felt  that  the  world  was  a 
very  good  place  indeed  as  we  sped  across  the  green  plain 
in  the  sunny  morning.  I  could  hardly  believe  that  this 
goodly  land  was  the  one  to  which  I  had  always  been  accus- 
tomed to  think  men  went  as  to  a  living  death. 

And  then  I  forgot  other  folks'  troubles  in  my  own,  for 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       253 

envious  eyes  were  cast  upon  the  spare  bunk  in  my  com- 
partment. No  one  would  have  dreamt  of  interfering  had 
the  sailor  insisted  upon  having  all  four  for  himself,  but  since 
he  had  parted  with  the  rights  of  one  compartment  to  a 
foreign  woman,  it  was  evident  that  other  people,  crowded  out, 
began  to  think  of  their  own  comfort.  Various  people  inter- 
viewed me.  I  am  afraid  I  understood  thoroughly  what  they 
wanted,  but  I  did  not  understand  Russian,  and  I  made  the 
most  of  that  disability.  Also  all  my  friends  who  spoke 
French  kept  out  of  the  way,  so  I  suppose  they  did  not  wish 
to  aid  and  abet  in  upsetting  my  comfort.  At  last  a  most 
extraordinary  individual  with  a  handkerchief  tied  round  his 
neck  in  lieu  of  a  coUar  and  a  little  tourist  cap  on  the  back  of 
his  head  was  brought,  and  he  informed  me  in  French  that 
there  was  a  doctor  in  the  hospital  section  of  the  train  who 
had  not  been  in  bed  for  a  week,  they  could  not  turn  the 
soldiers  out,  they  must  have  rest,  would  I  allow  him  to  sleep 
in  my  compartment  ? 

"  Madame,"  he  said,  and  the  officials  standing  round 
emphasised  the  remark,  if  it  needed  emphasis,  "it  is  war 
time.     The  train  is  for  the  soldiers." 

Certainly  I  was  here  on  sufferance.  They  had  a  right  to 
tm-n  me  out  if  they  liked.  So  the  doctor  came  and  turned 
in  in  the  top  bunk,  and  his  long-drawn  snores  took  away 
from  my  sense  of  privacy. 

I  don't  think  he  liked  it  very  much,  for  presently  he  was 
succeeded  by  a  train  official,  very  drunk,  though  I  am  bound 
to  say  he  was  the  only  drunken  man  I  saw  on  all  that  long 
train  journey  from  Stretensk  to  Petrograd.  It  was  a  little 
unlucky  we  were  at  such  close  quarters.  Everyone,  too, 
was  very  apologetic. 

He  was  a  good  fellow.  It  was  an  unfortunate  accident 
and  he  would  be  very  much  ashamed. 


254  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

I  suppose  he  was,  for  the  next  day  he  too  disappeared 
and  his  place  was  taken  by  a  professor  from  one  of  the 
Siberian  universities  who  was  seeking  radium.  He  was  a 
nice  old  gentleman  who  had  learned  English  but  had  never 
had  the  chance  of  hearing  it  spoken.  Where  he  went  in  the 
daytime  I  do  not  know,  probably  to  a  friend's  compartment, 
and  Buchanan  and  I  had  the  place  to  ourselves.  We  could 
and  did  invite  the  Cossack  officer  and  the  Hussar  officer  and 
his  belongings  and  the  naval  man  to  tea,  and  we  had  great 
games  with  the  little  fox-teiTier  "  Sport "  from  next  door, 
but  when  night  fell  the  professor  turned  up  and  notified  me 
he  was  about  to  go  to  bed.  Then  he  retired  and  I  went 
to  bed  first  on  the  lower  seat.  He  knocked,  came  in  and 
climbed  up  to  his  bunk,  and  we  discoursed  on  the  affairs 
of  the  world,  I  correcting  his  curious  pronunciation.  He 
really  was  a  man  of  the  world  ;  he  was  the  sort  of  man  I  had 
expected  to  meet  in  Siberia,  only  I  had  never  imagined  him 
as  free  and  sharing  a  railway  compartment  with  me.  I  should 
have  expected  to  find  him  toiling  across  the  plains  with  the 
chains  that  bound  his  ankles  hitched  to  his  belt  for  conveni- 
ence of  carrying.  But  he  looked  and  he  spoke  as  any  other 
cultivated  old  gentleman  might  have  spoken,  and  looking 
back  I  see  that  his  views  of  the  war,  given  in  the  end  of 
August,  IQl^,  were  quite  the  soundest  I  have  ever  listened  to. 

"  Tlie  Allies  will  win,"  he  used  to  say,  "  yes,  they  \vill 
win."  And  he  shook  his  head.  "  But  it  will  be  a  long  war, 
and  the  place  will  be  drenched  in  blood  ffi'st.  Two  years, 
thi'ce  years,  I  tliink  four  years."  I  wonder  if  he  foresaw 
the  chaos  that  would  fall  upon  Russia. 

These  views  were  very  different  from  those  held  by  the 
other  men. 

"  Madame,"  the  Cossack  would  say,  laughing,  "  do  you 
know  a  good  hotel  in  Berlin  ?  " 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       255 

I  looked  up  surprised.  "  Because,"  he  went  on,  "  I 
engage  a  room  there.    We  go  to  BerUn  !  " 

"  Peace  dictated  at  Berlin,"  said  they  all  again  and  again, 
"peace  dictated  at  Berlin."  This  was  during  the  first 
onward  rush  of  the  Russians.  Then  there  came  a  set- 
back, two  towns  were  taken  and  the  Germans  demanded 
an  indemnity  of  twenty  thousand  pounds  apiece. 

"  Very  well,"  said  the  Cossack  gi'imly,  and  the  Hussar 
nodded  his  head.  "  They  have  set  the  tune.  Now  we  know 
what  to  ask." 

But  the  professor  looked  grave.  "  Many  towns  will  faU," 
said  he. 

Another  thing  that  struck  me  was  the  friendly  relations 
of  the  officers  with  those  under  them.  As  the  only  repre- 
sentative of  their  Western  Ally  on  the  train,  I  was  something 
of  a  curiosity,  and  soldiers  and  non-commissioned  officers 
liked  to  make  excuse  to  look  at  me.  I  only  wished  I  had 
been  a  little  smarter  and  better-looking  for  the  sake  of  my 
countr}',  for  I  had  had  no  new  clothes  since  the  end  of  1912. 
However,  I  had  to  make  the  best  of  it,  and  the  men  came 
to  me  on  the  platforms  or  to  my  compartment  without 
fear.  If  by  chance  they  knew  a  little  French  they  spoke 
to  me,  helped  out  by  their  officers  if  their  vocabulary  ran 
short. 

"  Madame,  Madame,"  said  an  old  non-commissioned  officer, 
"  would  you  be  so  good  as  to  tell  me  how  to  pronounce  the 
English  '  zee  '  ?  I  teach  myself  French,  now  I  teach  myself 
English." 

Well,  they  had  all  been  good  to  me  and  I  had  no  means 
of  repaying  their  kindness  save  vicariously,  so  I  took  him  in 
hand  and  with  the  aid  of  a  booklet  published  by  the  Wagons 
Lit  Train  du  Luxe  describing  the  journey  across  Siberia  we 
wrestled  with  the  difficulties  of  the  English  "  th." 


256  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

It  was  a  long  long  journey.  We  crept  across  the  great 
steppes,  we  lingered  by  stations,  sometimes  there  were  lakes, 
sometimes  great  rivers,  but  always  the  great  plains.  Far 
as  the  eye  could  see  rolled  the  extent  of  green  under  the  clear 
blue  sky ;  often  we  saw  herds  of  cattle  and  mobs  of  horses, 
and  again  and  again  companies  of  soldiers,  and  yet  so  vast 
is  the  country  the  sensation  left  upon  the  stranger  is  of 
emptiness,  of  a  rich  and  fertile  land  crying  out  for  inhabi- 
tants. I  looked  at  it  from  the  train  with  eager  eyes,  but  I 
began  to  understand  how  there  had  gi-own  up  in  my  mind 
the  pictiu:e  of  this  lovely  land  as  a  dark  and  terrible  place. 
To  the  prisoners  who  came  here  tliis  plain,  whether  it  were 
green  and  smiling,  or  whether  it  were  deep  in  white  snow, 
could  only  have  been  the  barrier  that  cut  them  off  from  home 
and  hope,  from  all  that  made  life  dear.  How  could  they 
take  up  their  broken  lives  here,  they  who  for  the  most  part 
were  dwellers  in  the  cities  ? 

Here  was  a  regiment  of  soldiers ;  it  was  nothing,  nothing, 
set  in  the  vast  plain.  The  buttercups  and  daisies  and 
purple  vetches  were  trampled  down  for  a  great  space  where 
men  had  been  exercising  or  camping ;  but  it  w£is  nothing. 
There  were  wide  stretches  of  country  where  the  cattle  were 
peacefully  feeding  and  where  the  flowers  turned  up  smiling 
faces  to  the  blue  sky  for  miles  and  miles,  making  me  forget 
that  this  had  been  the  land  of  shadowed  lives  in  the  past 
and  that  away  in  the  West  men  were  fighting  for  their  very 
existence,  locked  in  a  death-grip  such  as  the  world  has  never 
before  seen. 

It  was  well  there  was  something  to  look  out  upon,  for  that 
train  was  horrid.  I  realised  something  of  the  horrors  of 
the  post-houses  in  which  the  prisoners  had  been  locked  at 
night.  We  could  get  good  food  at  every  station,  but  in 
the  train  we  were  too  close  on  the  ground  and  the  reek  of 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       257 

us  went  up  to  heaven.  I  felt  as  if  the  atmosphere  of  the 
train  desecrated  the  fresh,  clear  air  of  the  great  plain  over 
which  we  passed,  as  if  we  must  breed  disease.  The  journey 
seemed  interminable,  and  what  I  should  do  when  it  ended 
I  did  not  know,  for  opinion  was  fairly  unanimous :  they 
were  sure  I  could  not  get  to  England  ! 

With  many  apologies  the  captain  of  the  Askold  permitted 
himself  to  ask  how  I  was  off  for  money.  I  was  a  total 
stranger,  met  on  a  train,  and  a  foreigner  !  I  told  him  I  had 
a  little  over  forty  poimds  and  if  that  were  not  enough  I 
had  thought  to  be  able  to  send  to  London  for  more. 

He  shook  his  head. 

"  I  doubt  if  even  letters  can  get  through." 

And  I  sighed  that  then  I  did  not  know  what  I  should  do, 
for  I  had  no  friends  in  Petrograd. 

"  Pardon,  Madame,"  said  he  remonstrantly,  and  he  gave 
me  the  addiess  of  his  wife  and  daughters.  He  told  me  to 
go  and  see  them  ;  he  assured  me  that  everj^body  in  Russia 
now  wanted  to  learn  English,  that  I  would  have  no  difficulty 
in  getting  pupils  and  so  do  myself  very  comfortably  "  till 
we  make  a  passage  to  England  again." 

Just  before  we  reached  Cheliabynsk  he  came  and  told 
me  that  he  had  heard  there  was  a  west-bound  express  with 
one  place  vacant,  a  ship  awaited  him  and  speed  was  very 
necessary,  therefore  he  was  leaving  this  train.  Then  at 
one  of  the  greater  stopping-places  he  bowed  low  over  my 
hand,  bade  me  farewell,  made  a  dash  and  caught  the  express. 
I  have  never  either  seen  or  heard  of  him  since,  but  he  remains 
in  my  mind  as  one  of  the  very  kindly  men  I  have  met  on  my 
way  through  the  world. 

At  Cheliabynsk  we  spent  the  livelong  day,  for  there  the 
main  part  of  the  train  went  on  to  Moscow  with  the  soldiers, 
while  we  who  wanted  to  go  to  Petrogra^l  caught  a  train  in  the 

R 


258  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

evening.  I  was  glad  to  find  that  the  Hussar  officer  and  the 
Cossack  were  both  bound  for  Petrograd.  And  here  we  came 
in  touch  once  more  with  the  West.  There  was  a  bookstall, 
and  though  I  could  not  buy  an  English  paper  I  could  and 
did  buy  an  English  book,  one  of  John  Galsworthy's  in  the 
Tauchnitz  edition.  It  was  a  great  delight  to  come  in  con- 
tact once  more  with  something  I  could  read.  There  was  a 
big  refreshment -room  here  with  all  manner  of  delectable 
things  to  eat,  only  we  had  passed  beyond  the  sturgeon, 
and  caviare  was  no  longer  to  be  had  save  at  a  price  that 
was  prohibitive  to  a  woman  who  had  had  as  much  as  she 
could  eat  and  who  anyhow  was  saving  her  pennies  in  case 
of  contingencies. 

But  one  thing  I  did  have,  and  that  was  a  bath.  In  fact 
the  whole  train  bathed.  Near  the  station  was  a  long  row 
of  bath-houses,  but  each  one  I  visited — and  they  all  seemed 
unpleasant  places — ^was  crowded  with  soldiers.  After  a 
third  attempt  to  get  taken  in  my  Cossack  friend  met  me 
and  was  shocked  at  the  idea  of  my  going  to  such  a  place ; 
if  I  would  trust  him  he  would  take  me  to  a  proper  place 
after  dSjeuner. 

Naturally  I  trusted  him  gladly,  and  we  got  into  one  of 
the  usual  broken-down  landaus  and  drove  away  to  the  other 
side  of  the  town  to  a  row  of  quite  superior  bath-houses. 
My  friend  declared  he  knew  the  place  well,  he  had  been 
stationed  here  in  "  the  last  revolution,"  as  if  revolutions 
came  as  regularly  as  the  seasons. 

It  was  a  gorgeous  bath-house.  That  young  man  bought 
me  soap  ;  he  bought  me  some  sort  of  loofah  for  scrubbing ; 
he  escorted  me  to  three  large  rooms  which  I  engaged  for 
a  couple  of  hours  and,  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  people, 
having  had  the  windows  opened,  he  left  me,  assuring  me 
that  the  carriage  should  return  for  me  in  two  hours.    There 


ON  A  RUSSIAN  MILITARY  TRAIN       259 

was  plenty  of  hot  water,  plenty  of  cold,  and  any  amount 
of  towels,  and  both  Buchanan  and  I  washed  the  grime  of 
the  journey  from  us  and  then  rested  on  the  sofa  in  the 
retiring-room.  I  read  John  Galsworthy  and  punctually  to 
the  moment  I  descended  to  the  street,  clean  and  refreshed, 
and  there  our  carriage  awaited  us. 

We  bought  water-melons  on  our  way  back  to  the  train, 
for  the  streets  were  heaped  up  with  the  great  dark  gi-een 
melons  with  the  pink  flesh  that  I  had  not  seen  since  I  left 
Australia.  Autumn  was  on  the  land  and  here  were  water- 
melons proof  thereof. 

Ever  as  we  went  west  the  cornfields  increased.  Most  of 
the  wheat  was  cut  and  standing  in  golden-brown  stooks 
waiting  to  be  garnered  by  old  men  and  boys  and  sturdy 
country  women  and  those  who  were  left  of  her  young  men, 
for  Russia  had  by  no  means  called  out  her  last  lines  in  1914. 
There  were  still  great  patches  of  forest,  primeval  forest,  of 
dense  fir,  and  I  remembered  that  here  must  be  the  haunts 
of  the  wolves  and  the  bear  with  which  I  had  always  associ- 
ated Russia.  More,  though  why  I  know  not,  my  mind  flew 
back  to  the  tunes  of  the  nomad  hordes  who,  coming  out  of 
Central  Asia,  imposed  their  rule  upon  the  fair-haired  Aryan 
race  that  had  settled  upon  the  northern  plain  of  Europe. 
Those  forests  for  me  spelled  Romance ;  they  took  away  from 
the  feeling  of  commonplaceness  that  the  breaking  down  of 
my  preconceived  ideas  of  Siberia  had  engendered.  Almost 
anything  might  happen  in  a  land  that  held  such  forests, 
and  such  rivers.  Not  that  I  was  allowed  to  see  much  of  the 
rivers  now.  Someone  always  came  in  and  drew  down  the 
blinds  in  my  compartment — I  had  one  to  myself  since  leaving 
Cheliabynsk — and  told  me  I  must  not  go  out  on  the  platfonn 
whenever  we  crossed  a  bridge.  They  were  evidently  taking 
precautions  against  spying  though  they  were  too  polite  to 


260  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

say  so.  There  were  big  towns  with  stations  packed  to 
overflowing.  At  Perm  we  met  some  (German  prisoners  of 
war,  and  there  were  soldiers,  soldiers  everywhere,  and  at 
last  one  day  in  the  first  week  in  September  we  steamed 
into  Petrograd. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS 

It  was  evening  and  we  had  arrived  at  Petrograd.  For 
many  years  I  had  wanted  to  see  the  northern  capital.  I 
had  thought  of  it  as  a  town  planned  by  a  genius,  slowly 
growing  amid  surrounding  swamps,  and  in  my  childhood  I 
had  pictured  that  genius  as  steadily  working  as  a  carpenter — 
in  a  white  paper  cap — having  always  in  his  mind's  eye  the 
to^vn  that  was  to  grow  on  the  Baltic  Sea,  the  seaport  that 
sliould  give  his  country  free  access  to  the  civilisation  of  the 
West.  He  was  a  great  hero  of  mine  because  of  his  efficiency  ; 
after  all  I  see  no  reason  why  I  should  dethrone  him  now 
that  I  realise  he  had  the  faults  of  his  time  and  his  position. 

But  in  life  I  find  things  always  come  differently  to  what 
one  pictures  them.  The  little  necessities  of  life  will  crop 
up  and  must  be  attended  to  first  and  foremost.  The  first 
thought  that  came  to  me  was  that  I  had  to  part  with  the 
friends  I  had  made  on  the  journey.  Right  away  from  the 
borders  of  China  the  Cossack  officer  and  I  had  travelled 
together  ;  I  had  met  the  Hussar  officer  and  his  wife  soon  after 
I  had  joined  the  train,  and  we  seemed  to  have  come  out  of 
one  world  into  another  together.  It  made  a  bond,  and  I 
for  one  was  soiTy  to  part.  They  were  going  to  their  owti 
friends  or  to  a  Russian  hotel,  and  the  general  consensus 
of  opinion  was  that  I  would  be  more  comfortable  in  a  hotel 
where  there  were  English  or  at  least  French  people. 

"  Go  to  the  Grand  Hotel,  Madame,"  suggested  the  Hussar 
officer's  wife,  she  who  spoke  perfect  French. 
261 


262  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

So  Buchanan  and  I  loaded  our  belongings  on  to  a  droshky 
that  looked  smart  after  the  ones  I  had  been  accustomed  to 
in  Asia,  bade  farewell  to  our  friends  "  till  after  the  war" — ^the 
Cossack  was  coming  to  England  then  "  to  buy  a  dog  " — and 
drove  to  the  Grand  Hotel. 

The  Grand  Hotel  spoke  perfect  English,  looked  at  me 
and — declined  to  take  me  because  I  had  a  little  dog.  I 
was  very  much  astonished,  but  clearly  I  couldn't  abandon 
Buchanan,  so  I  went  on  to  the  Hotel  d'Angleterre,  which 
also  declined.  I  went  from  hotel  to  hotel  and  they  all  said 
the  same  thing,  they  could  not  think  of  taking  in  anyone 
accompanied  by  a  dog.  It  was  growing  dark — it  was  dark, 
and  after  a  fortnight  on  the  train  I  was  weary  to  death. 
How  could  I  think  of  the  glories  of  the  Russian  capital 
when  I  was  wondering  where  I  could  find  a  resting-place  ? 
I  couldn't  turn  Buchanan  adrift  in  the  streets,  I  couldn't 
camp  in  the  streets  myself,  and  the  hotel  porters  who  could 
speak  English  had  no  suggestions  to  make  as  to  where  I 
could  bestow  my  little  friend  in  safety.  Six  hotels  we  went 
to  and  everyone  was  firm  and  polite,  they  could  not  take  a 
dog.  At  last  a  hotel  porter  had  a  great  idea,  the  Hot^l 
Astoria  would  take  dogs. 

"  Why  on  earth  didn't  someone  tell  me  so  before  ?  "  I 
said,  and  promptly  went  to  the  Hotel  Astoria.  It  was  rather 
like  going  to  the  Hotel  Ritz,  and  though  I  should  like  to  stay 
at  the  Hotel  Ritz  I  would  not  recommend  it  to  anyone  who 
was  fearing  an  milimited  stay  in  the  country,  who  had  only 
forty  pounds  to  her  credit  and  was  not  at  all  sure  she  could 
get  any  more.  Still  the  Hotel  Astoria  took  little  dogs, 
actually  welcomed  them,  and  charged  four  shillings  a  day 
for  their  keep.  I  forgot  Peter  the  Great  and  the  building  of 
the  capital  of  Russia,  revelling  in  the  comforts  of  a  delight- 
ful room  all  mirrors,  of  a  bathroom  attached  and  a  dinner 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  263 

that  it  was  worth  coming  half  across  the  world  to  meet. 
My  spirits  rose  and  I  began  to  be  quite  sure  that  all  diffi- 
culties would  pass  away,  I  should  be  able  to  get  back  to 
England  and  there  would  be  no  need  for  that  desperate 
economy.  It  was  delightful  to  go  to  bed  in  a  still  bed 
between  clean  white  sheets,  to  listen  to  the  rain  upon  the 
window  and  to  know  that  for  this  night  at  least  all  was  well. 
I  had  seen  no  English  papers  ;  I  knew  nothing  about  the  war, 
and  it  is  a  fact  one's  o^^^l  comfort  is  very  apt  to  colour  one's 
views  of  life.  Buchanan  agreed  vnth  me  this  was  a  very 
pleasant  world — as  a  rule  I  do  find  the  world  pleasant — it 
was  impossible  anjiihing  could  go  WTong  in  it. 

And  the  next  day  I  received  a  snub — a  snub  from  my  own 
people. 

I  went  to  the  British  Consulate  full  of  confidence.  Every 
foreigner  I  had  met  all  across  the  world  had  been  so  pleased 
to  see  me,  had  been  so  courteous  and  kind,  had  never  counted 
the  cost  when  I  wanted  help,  so  that  I  don't  know  what  I 
didn't  expect  from  my  own  countrymen.  I  looked  forward 
very  much  to  meeting  them.  And  the  young  gentleman  in 
office  snubbed  me  properly.  He  wasn't  wanting  any  truck 
with  foolish  women  who  crossed  continents  ;  he  didn't  care 
one  scrap  whether  I  had  come  from  Saghalien  or  just  walked 
dovm.  the  Nevsky  Prospekt ;  I  was  a  nuisance  anyw^ay,  his 
manner  gave  me  to  understand,  since  I  disturbed  his  peace 
and  quiet,  and  the  sooner  I  took  myself  out  of  the  country 
the  better  he  would  be  pleased.  He  just  condescended  to 
explain  where  I  could  get  a  ticket  straight  tlu-ough  to 
Newcastle-on-Tyne ;  people  were  doing  it  every  day  ;  he 
didn't  know  anything  about  the  war,  and  his  manner  gave 
me  to  understand  that  it  wasn't  his  business  to  supply 
travellers  with  news.  I  walked  out  of  that  office  with  all 
the  jauntiness  taken  out  of  me.     Possibly,  I  have  thought 


264  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

since,  he  was  depressed  at  the  news  from  France,  perhaps 
someone  was  jeering  him  because  he  had  not  joined  up,  or 
else  he  had  wanted  to  join  up  and  was  not  allowed.  It  was 
unlucky  that  my  first  Englishman  after  so  long  should  be 
such  a  churlish  specimen.  I  felt  that  unless  my  necessity 
was  dire  indeed  I  should  not  apply  to  the  British  Consulate 
for  help  in  an  emergency.  I  did  not  recover  till  I  went  to 
the  company  who  sold  through  tickets,  across  Finland, 
across  Sweden  and  Noi-way,  across  the  North  Sea  to 
Newcastle-on-Tyne.  There  I  bought  a  ticket  for  fifteen 
pounds  which  was  to  caiTy  me  the  whole  way.  It  was  a 
Swedish  company,  I  think,  and  the  office  was  packed  with 
people,  Poles,  Letts,  Lithuanians  and  Russians,  who  were 
naturalised  Americans  and  who  wanted  to  go  home.  Every- 
body took  the  deepest  interest  in  Buchanan,  so  much  interest 
that  the  man  in  charge  asked  me  if  I  was  going  to  take  him, 
I  said  "  Of  course,"  and  he  shook  his  head. 

"  You  will  never  get  him  through  Sweden.  They  are  most 
strict." 

Poor  Buchanan  !  Despair  seized  me.  Having  been  to  the 
British  Consulate,  I  knew  it  was  no  use  seeking  advice  there. 
I  suppose  I  was  too  tired  or  I  should  have  remembered  that 
Americans  are  always  kind  and  helpful  and  gone  there  or 
even  dared  the  British  Embassy.  But  these  ideas  occurred 
to  me  too  late. 

You  may  travel  the  world  over  and  the  places  you  visit 
will  often  remain  in  your  mind  as  pleasant  or  otherwise  not 
because  of  any  of  their  own  attributes,  but  because  of  the 
emotions  you  have  suffered  in  them.  Here  was  I  in  St 
Petrograd,  and  instead  of  exploring  streets  and  canals  and 
cathedrals  and  palaces  my  whole  thoughts  were  occupied 
with  the  fate  of  my  little  dog.  I  "  had  given  my  heart  to  a 
dog  to  tear  "  and  I  was  suffering  in  consequence.     All  the 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  265 

while  I  was  in  Petrograd — and  I  stayed  there  three  days 
looking  for  a  way  out — my  thoughts  were  given  to  James 
Buchanan.  I  discussed  the  matter  with  the  authorities 
in  the  hotel  who  could  speak  English,  and  finally  Buchanan 
and  I  made  a  peregiination  to  the  Swedish  Consulate.  And 
though  the  Swedish  Consulate  was  a  deal  more  civil  and 
more  interested  in  me  and  my  doings  than  the  English,  in 
the  matter  of  a  dog,  even  a  nice  little  dog  like  Buchanan, 
they  were  firm — ^tlu'ough  Sweden  he  could  not  go. 

I  read  in  the  paper  the  other  day  that  the  world  might 
be  divided  into  men  and  women  and  people-who-hate-dogs, 
and  these  last  will  wonder  what  I  was  making  such  a  fuss 
about,  but  the  men  and  women  will  understand.  My  dear 
little  companion  and  friend  had  made  the  lonely  places 
pleasant  for  me  and  I  could  not  get  him  out  of  the  country 
save  by  turning  round  and  going  back  across  Europe,  Asia 
and  America ! 

I  went  back  to  the  place  where  I  had  bought  my  ticket. 
They  also  were  sympathetic.  Everyone  in  the  office  was 
interested  in  the  tribulations  of  the  cheerful  little  black  and 
white  dog  who  sat  on  the  counter  and  wagged  a  friendly  tail. 
I  had  many  offers  to  take  care  of  him  for  me,  and  the  con- 
sensus of  opinion  was  that  he  might  be  smuggled !  And 
many  tales  were  told  me  of  dogs  taken  across  the  borders 
in  overcoats  and  muffs,  or  drugged  in  baskets. 

That  last  appealed  to  me.  Buchanan  was  just  too  big  to 
carry  hidden  easily,  but  he  might  be  drugged  and  covered  up 
in  a  basket.  I  went  back  to  the  Astoria  and  sent  for  a  vet. 
Also  I  bought  a  highly  ornamental  basket.  The  porter 
thought  I  was  cruel.  He  thought  I  might  leave  the  dog 
with  him  till  after  the  war,  but  he  translated  the  vet's 
opinion  for  me,  and  the  vet  gave  me  some  sulphonal.  He 
assured  me  the  little  dog  would  be  all  right,  and  I  tried  to 


266  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

put  worrj^ng  thoughts  away  from  me  and  to  see  Petrograd, 
the  capital  of  the  Tsars. 

But  I  had  seen  too  much.  There  comes  a  moment,  how- 
ever keen  you  are  on  seeing  tlie  world,  when  you  want  to 
see  no  new  thing,  when  you  want  only  to  close  your  eyes 
and  rest,  and  I  had  arrived  at  that  moment.  The  wide  and 
busy  streets  intersected  with  canals,  the  broad  expanse  of 
the  Neva,  the  cathedral  and  the  Winter  Palace  were  nothing 
to  me ;  even  the  wrecked  German  Embassy  did  not  stir  me. 

I  was  glad  then  when  the  fourth  morning  found  me  on 
the  Finland  station.  The  Finland  station  was  crowded  and 
the  Finland  train,  ^\-ith  only  second  and  third  class  carnages 
and  bound  for  Raumo,  was  crowded  also,  and  it  appeared  it 
did  not  know  its  way  very  well  as  the  line  had  only  just  been 
opened  to  meet  the  traffic  west  diverted  from  Germany. 
A  fortnight  before  no  one  had  ever  heard  of  Raumo. 

And  now  for  me  the  whole  outlook  was  changed.  This 
was  no  military  train,  packed  as  it  was,  but  a  train  of  men, 
women  and  children  struggling  to  get  out  of  the  country, 
the  flotsam  and  jttsam  that  come  to  the  surface  at  the 
beginning  of  a  war.  And  I  heard  again  for  the  first  time 
since  I  left  Tientsin,  worlds  away,  English  spoken  that  was 
not  addressed  to  me.  To  be  sure  it  was  English  with  an 
accent,  the  very  peculiar  accent  that  belongs  to  Russians, 
Lithuanians,  Poles  and  Letts  Americanised,  and  with  it 
mingled  the  nasal  tones  of  a  young  musician  from  Central 
Russia  who  spoke  the  language  of  his  adopted  land  with  a 
most  exaggerated  accent  and  the  leisurely,  cultivated  tones 
of  Oxford. 

I  had  come  from  the  East  to  the  West ! 

The  carriage  was  open  from  end  to  end  and  they  would 
not  allow  Buchanan  to  enter  it.  He,  poor  little  man,  in  the 
gorgeous  basket  that  he  objected  to  strongly,  was  banished 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  267 

to  the  luggage-van,  and  because  the  carriage  was  hot,  and 
also  because  I  felt  he  Avould  be  lonely  separated  from  me, 
I  went  there  and  kept  him  company. 

And  in  that  van  I  met  another  Russian  naval  officer  and 
deepened  my  obligations  to  the  Russian  navy.  He  sat 
down  beside  me  on  one  of  the  boxes,  a  tall,  broad-shouldered, 
fair  man  who  looked  like  a  Viking  with  his  moustache 
shaved  off.  I  found  to  my  joy  he  spoke  English,  and  I 
confided  to  him  my  difficulties  with  regard  to  breakfast.  I 
was  so  old  a  traveller  by  now  I  had  learned  the  Avisdom  of 
considering  carefully  the  commissariat.  He  was  going  to 
the  forts  on  the  Finnish  border  of  which  he  was  in  command, 
but  before  he  left  the  train  we  would  arrive  at  a  refreshment- 
room,  and  he  undertook  to  arrange  matters  for  me.  And 
so  he  did. 

Petrograd  does  not  get  up  early,  at  least  the  Hotel  Astoria 
did  not,  and  the  most  I  could  manage  before  I  left  was  a  cup 
of  coffee,  but  I  made  up  for  it  at  that  first  refreshment -room. 
The  naval  officer  took  entire  charge  and,  revelling  in  his 
importance,  I  not  only  had  a  very  good  breakfast  but  made 
the  most  of  my  chances  and,  filling  up  my  basket  with  a 
view  to  future  comforts,  bought  good  things  so  that  I  might 
be  able  to  exchange  civilities  with  my  fellow-passengers  on 
the  way  to  Raumo.  I  had  eggs  and  sausages  and  new  bread 
and  scones  and  a  plentiful  supply  of  fruit,  to  say  nothing  of 
sugar  and  lemons  and  cream  and  meat  for  Buchanan — the 
naval  man  looking  on  smiling — and  when  I  had  really  done 
myself  well  I  turned  to  hun  and  demanded  what  I  ought  to 
pay. 

"  Nothing,  Madame.  In  Russia  when  a  gentleman  takes 
a  lady  for  refreshment  he  pays  !  " 

Imagine  my  horror  !  And  I  had  stocked  my  basket  so 
lavishly  ! 


268  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

My  protests  were  useless.  I  was  escorted  back  to  our 
luggage- van  and  my  thoughts  led  gently  from  the  coffee 
and  eggs  I  had  consumed  and  the  sausages  and  bread  I 
had  stowed  away  in  my  basket  to  the  state  of  the  war  as 
it  struck  the  Russian  naval  mind. 

Had  I  heard  about  the  sea  fight  in  the  Mediterranean  ? 
Not  heard  about  the  little  Gloucester  attacking  the  Goehen, 
the  little  Gloucester  that  the  big  German  battleship  could 
have  eaten  !  A  dwarf  and  a  giant !  Madame  !  Madame  ! 
It  was  a  sea  fight  that  will  go  down  through  the  ages ! 
Russia  was  ringing  with  it ! 

"  Do  you  know  anyone  in  the  English  navy  ?  " 

I  said  I  had  two  brothers  in  the  senior  service,  a  little 
later  and  I  might  have  said  three. 

"  Then  tell  them,"  said  he  earnestly,  "  we  Russian  sailors 
are  proud  to  be  Allies  of  a  nation  that  breeds  such  men  as 
manned  the  Gloucester  !  " 

The  Finnish  border  was  soon  reached  and  he  left  us,  and 
the  day  went  on  and  discipline  I  suppose  relaxed,  for  I 
brought  Buchanan  into  the  carriage  and  made  friends  with 
the  people  who  surrounded  me.  And  then  once  again  did 
I  bless  the  foresight  of  the  Polish  Jewess  in  Kharbin  who  had 
impressed  upon  me  the  necessity  for  two  kettles.  They  were 
a  godsend  in  that  carriage.  We  commandeered  glasses,  we 
got  hot  water  at  wayside  stations  and  I  made  tea  for  all 
within  reach,  and  a  cup  of  tea  to  a  thirsty  traveller,  especially 
if  that  traveller  be  a  woman,  is  certainly  a  road  to  that 
traveller's  good  graces. 

Finland  is  curiously  different  from  Russia.  They  used 
to  believe  in  the  old  sailing-ship  days  that  every  Finn  was 
a  magician.  Whether  they  are  magicians  or  not,  they 
have  a  beautiful  country,  though  its  beauty  is  as  different 
from  that  of  the  Amur  as  the  Thames  is  from  the  Murray 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  269 

in  far-away  Australia.  Gone  were  the  wide  spaces  of  the 
earth  and  the  primitive  peoples.  We  wandered  through 
cultivated  lands,  we  passed  lake  and  river  and  woods, 
crossed  a  wonderful  salmon  river,  skirted  Finland's  inland 
sea  :  here  and  there  was  a  castle  dominating  the  farmhouses 
and  little  towns,  the  trees  were  turning,  just  touched  gently 
by  Autumn's  golden  fingers,  and  I  remembered  I  had  watched 
the  tender  green  of  the  spring  awakening  on  the  other  side 
of  the  world,  more,  I  had  been  travelling  ever  since.  It 
made  me  feel  weary — weary.  And  yet  it  was  good  to  note 
the  difference  in  these  lands  that  I  had  journeyed  over. 
The  air  here  was  clear,  clear  as  it  had  been  in  China  ;  it  had 
that  curious  charm  that  is  over  scenery  viewed  thi-ough  a 
looking-glass,  a  charm  I  can  express  in  no  other  words. 
Unlike  the  great  rivers  of  Russia,  the  little  rivers  brawled 
over  the  stones,  companionable  little  streams  that  made 
you  feel  you  might  o^vn  them,  on  their  banks  spend  a  pleasant 
afternoon,  returning  to  a  cosy  fire  and  a  cheery  home  when 
the  dusk  was  falling. 

And  this  evening,  our  first  day  out,  we,  the  little  company 
in  my  carriage,  fell  into  trouble. 

We  spoke  among  us  many  tongues,  English,  French, 
German,  Polish,  Russian,  Lettish,  and  one  whose  tongue  was 
polyglot  thought  in  Yiddish  and  came  from  the  streets,  the 
"  mean  streets  "  of  London,  but  not  one  amongst  us  spoke 
Finnish,  the  language  of  the  magicians,  or  could  even  under- 
stand one  word  of  it.  This  was  unfortunate,  for  the  Finns 
either  spoke  no  language  but  their  o^vn  or  had  a  grudge 
against  us  and  declined  to  understand  us.  That  didn't 
prevent  them  from  turning  us  out  that  night  in  a  railway 
station  in  the  heart  of  Finland  and  leaving  us  to  discover 
for  ourselves  that  eveiy  hotel  in  the  little  town  was  full  to 
overflowing !    Once  more  I  was  faced  with  it — a  night  in 


270  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

a  railway  station.  But  my  predicament  was  not  so  bad 
shared  with  others  who  spoke  my  language.  There  was  the 
Oxford  man  and  the  musician  with  a  twang,  there  was  the 
wife  of  an  American  lawyer  with  her  little  boy  and  the  wife 
of  an  American  doctor  with  her  little  girls — they  all  spoke 
English  of  sorts,  used  it  habitually — and  there  were  four 
Austrian  girls  making  their  way  back  to  some  place  in 
Hungary.  Of  com-se,  technically,  they  were  our  enemies, 
while  the  Americans  were  neutral,  but  we  all  went  in 
together.  The  Russian-American  musician  had  been  in 
Leipsic  and  was  most  disgustingly  full  of  the  mighty  strength 
of  Germany. 

The  refresliment -rooms  were  shut,  the  whole  place  was  in 
darkness,  but  it  was  a  mild  night,  with  a  gorgeous  September 
moon  sailing  out  into  the  clear  sky,  and  personally  I  should 
not  have  minded  spreading  my  rugs  and  sleeping  outside. 
I  should  have  liked  it,  in  fact,  but  the  tales  of  the  insecurity 
of  Siberia  still  lingered  in  my  consciousness,  and  when  the 
Oxford  man  said  that  one  of  the  porters  would  put  us  up  in 
his  house  I  gladly  went  along  with  all  the  others  and,  better 
still,  took  along  my  bundles  of  rugs  and  cushions. 

The  places  that  I  have  slept  in  !  That  porter  had  a  quaint 
little  wooden  house  set  in  a  garden  and  the  whole  place 
might  have  been  lifted  bodily  out  of  Hans  Andersen.  We 
had  the  freedom  of  the  kitchen,  a  veiy  clean  kitchen,  and 
we  made  tea  there  and  ate  what  we  had  brought  in  our 
baskets.  The  Auslrian  girls  had  a  room  to  themselves, 
I  lent  my  rugs  to  the  young  men  and  they  made  shift  with 
them  in  the  entrance  porch,  and  the  best  sitting-ix)om  was 
turned  over  to  the  women  and  childien  and  me.  Two  very 
small  beds  were  put  up  very  close  together  and  into  them 
got  the  two  women  and  tlu'ee  childi-en,  and  I  was  accommo- 
dated with  a  remarkably  Lilliputian  sofa.     I  am  not  a  big 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  271 

woman,  but  it  would  not  hold  me,  and  as  for  Buchanan,  he 
looked  at  me  in  disgust,  said  a  bed  was  a  proper  place  for  a 
dog  and  promptly  jumped  on  it.  But  it  was  full  to  over- 
flowing of  women  and  childi-en  sleeping  the  sleep  of  the 
utterly  weary  and  he  as  promptly  jumped  off  again  and  the 
next  moment  was  sitting  up  in  front  of  my  sofa  with  his  little 
front  paws  hanging  down.  He  was  a  disgusted  dog.  He 
always  begged  when  he  wanted  me  to  give  him  something, 
and  now  he  begged  to  show  me  he  was  really  in  need  of  a 
bed.  There  were  great  uncurtained  windows  on  two  sides 
of  that  room,  there  were  flowers  and  ferns  in  pots  growing 
in  it,  and  the  full  moon  streamed  in  and  showed  me  every- 
thing :  the  crowded,  rather  gimcrack  fm-nitme,  the  bucket 
that  contained  water  for  us  to  wash  in  in  the  morning,  the 
bed  full  of  sleeping  women  and  children  and  the  little 
black  and  white  dog  sitting  up  in  protest  against  what  he 
considered  the  discomforts  of  the  situation.  What  I  found 
hard  to  bear  were  the  hermetically  sealed  windows — ^the 
women  had  been  afraid  of  di*aughts  for  the  childi'en — so  as 
soon  as  that  night  wore  thi-ough  and  daylight  came  stealing 
through  the  windows  I  dressed  quietly  and,  steppmg  across 
the  sleeping  young  men  at  the  door,  went  outside  with 
Buchanan  to  explore  Finland. 

Om-  porter  evidently  ran  some  sort  of  tea  gardens,  for 
there  were  large  swings  set  up,  swings  that  would  hold  four 
and  six  people  at  once,  and  we  tried  them,  much  to  Buchanan's 
discomfiture.  We  went  for  a  walk  up  the  street,  a  country 
town  street  of  little  wooden  houses  set  in  little  gardens, 
and  over  all  lay  a  Sabbath  calm.  It  was  Sunday,  and  the 
people  slept,  and  the  autumn  sunlight  made  the  whole  place 
glorious.  There  is  such  rest  and  peace  about  the  autmnn : 
everjiihing  has  been  accomplished  and  now  is  the  fullness  of 
time.    I  never  know  which  season  I  like  best,  each  has  its 


272  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

own  beauty,  but  I  shall  always  think  of  Finland  as  a  land 
of  little  things,  charming  little  things  bathed  in  the  autumn 
sunlight. 

When  the  whole  party  were  awake  we  found  some  diffi- 
culty in  getting  something  to  eat.  The  porter  could  not 
supply  us,  and  at  the  station,  where  they  were  vigorously 
sweeping — the  Finns  are  very  clean — ^they  utterly  declined 
to  open  the  first-class  refreshment-rooms.  We  could  only 
get  something  to  eat  in  the  third-class.  Tliere  was  a  great 
feeling  of  camaraderie  and  good-fellowship  among  us  all,  and 
here  I  remember  the  lawyer's  wife  insisted  upon  us  all  having 
breakfast  at  her  expense,  for  according  to  her  she  owed  us 
all  something.  It  was  she  who  added  to  our  party  the 
Yiddish  woman,  a  fat,  square  little  person  hung  round  with 
innumerable  bundles,  carrying  as  she  did  a  month's  pro- 
visions, enough  to  last  her  across  to  America,  for  she  was  a 
very  strict  Jew  and  could  eat  nothing  but  kosher  killed  meat 
and  kosher  bread,  whatever  that  may  be.  I  know  it  made 
her  a  care,  for  a  month's  provisions  make  something  of  a 
parcel,  and  when  bedding  and  a  certain  amount  of  clothing 
has  to  be  carried  as  well,  and  no  porters  are  available,  the 
resulting  baggage  is  apt  to  be  a  nuisance.  All  along  the  line 
this  fat  little  person  was  liable  to  come  into  view,  toiling 
under  the  weight  of  her  many  bundles.  She  would  be  found 
jammed  in  a  doorway  ;  she  would  subside  exhausted  in  the 
middle  of  a  railway  platform — the  majority  of  her  bundles 
would  be  retrieved  as  they  fell  doA\Tistairs — or  she  blocked 
the  little  gateway  through  which  passengers  were  admitted 
one  by  one,  and  the  resulting  bad  language  in  all  the  tongues 
of  Northern  Europe  probably  caused  the  Recording  Angel 
a  good  deal  of  unnecessary  trouble.  But  the  Oxford  man 
and  the  musician  were  always  read}'  to  help  her,  and  she 
must  have   blessed   the  day  the  American  lawyer's  wife 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  273 

added  her  to  a  party  which  had  such  kindly,  helpful  young 
men  among  its  members. 

I  found  presently  that  the  Oxford  man  and  I  were  the 
moneyed  members  of  the  party,  the  only  ones  who  were 
paying  our  way;  the  others,  far  richer  people  than  I,  I 
daresay,  had  been  caught  in  the  whirlpool  of  the  war  and 
were  being  passed  on  ft-om  one  American  consul  to  another, 
unable  to  get  money  from  their  own  country.  Apparently 
this  was  rather  an  unpleasant  process,  meaning  a  certain 
scarcity  of  cash,  as  an  American  consul  naturally  cannot 
afford  to  spend  lavishly  on  his  distressed  subjects.  It  was 
the  irony  of  fate  that  some  of  them  were  evidently  not 
accustomed  to  looking  too  carefully  after  the  pennies. 

It  took  us  two  days  to  cross  Finland,  and  towards  the  end 
of  the  journey,  after  we  had  got  out  to  have  tea  at  a  wayside 
station  that  blossomed  out  into  ham  and  tea  and  bread  and 
honey,  we  made  friends  with  a  certain  Finn  whose  father 
had  been  a  Scotsman.  At  last  we  were  able  to  communicate 
with  the  people  of  the  country !  Also  I'm  afraid  we  told 
him  in  no  measured  terms  that  we  did  not  think  much  of 
his  compatriots.  That  was  rather  a  shame,  for  he  was 
exceedingly  kind.  He  was  going  to  England,  he  told  us,  to 
buy  sheepskins  for  the  Russian  army,  and  he  took  great 
interest  in  my  trouble  about  Buchanan.  He  examined  him 
carefully,  came  to  the  conclusion  he  was  a  perfectly  healthy 
little  dog  and  suggested  I  should  lend  him  to  him  till  we 
reached  Sweden,  as  he  was  perfectly  well  known  to  the 
authorities,  and  Finnish  dogs  would  be  allowed  to  enter 
Sweden,  while  a  dog  that  had  come  from  Russia  would 
certainly  be  barred.  I  loved  that  man  for  his  kindly  interest 
and  I  handed  over  Buchanan  in  his  basket  without  a  qualm. 
We  were  really  quite  a  goodly  company  when  in  the 
dusk  of  the  evening  we  steamed  into  Raumo.    The  station 


274  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

seemed  deserted,  but  we  didn't  worry  much  about  that,  as 
our  new  Finnish  friend  suggested  the  best  thing  to  do  was 
to  go  straight  down  to  the  steamer,  the  Uleaborg,  a  Finnish 
ship,  and  have  our  dinner  and  spend  the  night  there.  Even 
if  she  did  not  go  that  night,  and  he  did  not  think  she 
would,  we  could  rest  and  sleep  comfortably.  We  all  agreed, 
and  as  the  train  went  on  down  to  the  wharf  we  appointed 
him  our  delegate  to  go  on  board  and  see  what  arrangements 
he  could  make  for  us.  The  minute  the  train  stopped,  off 
he  went,  and  Buchanan  went  with  him.  I  was  getting  easier 
in  my  mind  about  Buchanan  now,  the  thought  of  drugging 
him  had  been  spoiling  my  pleasure  in  the  scenery.  And  then 
we  waited. 

It  began  to  rain,  and  through  the  mist  which  hid  the 
moonlight  to-night  we  could  see  the  loom  of  the  ships  ;  they 
were  all  white  and  the  lights  from  the  cabin  ports  showed 
dim  through  the  misty  rain.  The  wharf  was  littered  with 
goods,  barrels  and  bales,  and  as  there  was  more  than  one 
steamer,  and  apparently  no  one  to  guide  us,  or  the  Scots 
Finn  had  not  returned,  we  tackled  the  Russian  gens  cfarme 
tv'ho  seemed  to  be  in  charge  of  the  wharf  and  who  was  lean- 
ing up  against  the  train. 

"  Can  you  speak  Finnish  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  now  you  have  my  secret  first  shot,"  said  he,  vdth  a 
smile.  He,  their  guardian,  was  no  more  equal  to  com- 
municating with  these  people  than  we  were.  And  then,  to 
our  dismay,  before  our  messenger  could  return,  the  train 
which  considered  not  a  parcel  of  refugees  put  on  steam  and 
started  back  to  Raumo  ! 

A  dozen  voices  were  raised  in  frantic  protest,  but  we  might 
as  well  have  spared  our  breath,  the  train  naturally  paid 
no  attention  to  us,  but  went  back  at  full  speed  to  the  to"vvn 
proper.    It  was  a  comfort  when  it  stopped,  for,  for  all  we 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  275 

knew,  it  might  have  gone  straight  back  to  Petrograd  itself. 
And  Buchanan,  shut  up  in  a  basket,  was  left  behind,  I  knew 
not  where !  They  dumped  us  on  that  station,  bag  and 
baggage,  in  the  rain.  We  were  worse  off  here  than  we  were 
at  the  wharf,  for  there  the  steamer  and  comfort  at  least 
loomed  in  the  distance.  Here  was  only  a  bare  and  empty 
station,  half-a-dozen  men  who  looked  at  us  as  if  we  were 
so  many  wild  beasts  on  show,  and  a  telephone  to  the  wharf 
which  we  were  allowed  to  use  as  long  as  we  pleased,  but  as 
far  as  I  could  gather  the  only  result  was  a  flow  of  bad 
language  in  many  tongues.  We  might  be  of  many  nations, 
but  one  and  all  were  we  agi-eed  in  our  dislike  of  the  Fimis 
and  all  things  Finnish.  If  I  remember  rightly,  in  the  Middle 
Ages,  most  people  feared  and  disliked  magicians. 

We  managed  to  get  our  baggage  into  the  hall  of  the  station, 
wliich  was  dimly  lighted  by  electric  lights,  and  in  anticipa- 
tion of  our  coming  they  had  filled  up  the  station  water- 
carafes.  But  that  was  all  the  provision  they  had  made.  If 
there  was  a  refreshment-room  it  had  been  locked  up  long 
ago,  and  as  far  as  we  could  make  out,  now  om'  interpreter 
had  gone,  there  were  no  hotels  or  boarding-houses.  Our 
Scots  Finn  had  said  it  was  impossible  to  stay  in  Raumo. 
We  looked  at  one  another  in  a  dismay  in  which  there  was, 
after  all,  something  comic.  This  that  had  befallen  us  was 
the  sort  of  aggravating  thing  a  mischievous  magician  would 
cause  to  happen.  We  were  tired  and  hungry  and  bad- 
tempered,  and  I  for  one  was  anxious  about  my  little  dog 
and  I  began  to  seek,  with  cash  in  my  hand,  somebody  who 
would  find  me  Buchanan. 

How  I  made  my  wants  kno\Mi  I  don't  now  realise,  but 
money  does  wonders,  and  presently  there  came  in  a  man 
bearing  his  basket  and  a  rapturous  little  dog  was  let  out  into 
the  room.     Where  he  had  been  I  have  not  the  famtest  idea, 


276  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

and  I  could  not  ask,  only  I  gathered  that  the  man  who 
brought  him  professed  himself  perfectly  willing  to  go  on 
fetching  little  dogs  all  night  at  the  same  rate,  and  the 
musician  remarked  in  his  high  nasal  twang  that  he  supposed 
it  was  no  good  expecting  any  more  sympathy  from  Mrs 
Gaunt,  she  was  content  now  she  had  her  little  dog.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  now  that  my  mind  was  at  ease,  I  was  equal 
to  giving  my  attention  to  other  people's  woes. 

We  tackled  the  men  round  us. 

Where  was  our  messenger  ? 

No  one  knew. 

Where  could  we  get  something  to  eat  ? 

Blank  stare.  They  were  not  accustomed  to  foreigners 
yet  at  Raumo.  The  station  had  only  just  been  opened. 
The  musician  took  out  his  violin  and  its  wailing  tones  went 
echoing  and  re-echoing  through  the  hall.  The  audience 
looked  as  if  they  thought  we  had  suddenly  gone  mad,  and 
one  man  came  forward  and  by  signs  told  us  we  must  leave 
the  station.  That  was  all  very  well,  we  were  not  enamoured 
of  the  station,  but  the  port  we  judged  to  be  at  least  four 
miles  off,  and  no  one  was  prepared  to  start  down  an  unknown 
road  in  the  dark  and  pouring  rain.  There  was  a  long  con- 
sultation, and  we  hoped  it  meant  food,  but  it  didn't.  Out 
of  a  wilderness  of  words  we  at  last  arrived  at  the  interesting 
fact  that  if  we  cared  to  subscribe  five  marks  one  of  these 
gentlemen  was  prepared  to  conduct  us  to  the  police  station. 
There  appeared  to  be  no  wild  desu-e  on  the  part  of  any  of  us 
to  go  to  the  police  station,  the  violin  let  out  a  screech  of 
scornful  derision,  and  one  of  the  officials  promptly  turned 
off  the  electric  lights  and  left  us  in  darkness  ! 

There  were  many  of  us,  and  vexations  shared  are  amusing. 
W'e  laughed,  how  we  laughed,  and  the  violin  went  wailing 
up  and  down  the  octaves.    No  wonder  the  Finns  looked  at 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  277 

us  askance.  Even  the  darkness  did  not  turn  us  out,  for  we 
had  nowhere  else  to  go,  and  finally  a  man  who  spoke  English 
turned  up,  the  agent  for  the  Swedish  steamer.  He  had 
thought  there  would  be  no  passengers  and  had  gone  to  bed, 
to  be  roused  up,  I  presume  by  the  stationmaster,  as  the  only 
person  likely  to  be  capable  of  dealing  with  these  trouble- 
some people  who  were  disturbing  the  peace  of  this  Finnish 
village. 

We  flew  at  him — ^there  were  about  a  dozen  of  us — and 
showed  our  tickets  for  the  Finnish  steamer,  and  he  smiled 
in  a  superior  manner  and  said  we  should  be  captured  by 
Germans. 

We  didn't  believe  much  in  the  Germans,  for  we  had  many 
of  us  come  through  a  country  which  certainly  believed  itself 
invulnerable.  Then  a  woman  travelling  vnth  her  two 
daughters,  Americans  of  the  Americans,  though  their  mother 
spoke  English  with  a  most  extraordinary  accent,  proclaimed 
aloud  that  if  there  was  a  Swedish  steamer  she  was  going 
by  it  as  she  was  afraid  of  "  dose  Yarmans."  She  and  her 
daughters  would  give  up  their  tickets  and  go  by  the  Swedish 
steamer.  Protest  was  useless.  If  we  liked  to  break  up 
the  party  we  could.  She  was  not  going  by  the  Uleaborg. 
Besides,  where  were  we  to  sleep  that  night  ?  The  Finnish 
steamer  was  three  or  four  miles  away  down  at  the  wharf 
and  we  were  here  along  with  the  Swedish  agent. 

The  Swedish  agent  seized  the  opening  thus  given.  There 
were  no  hotels  ;  there  were  no  boarding-houses  ;  no,  it  was 
not  possible  to  get  anything  to  eat  at  that  hour  of  the  night. 
Something  to  drink  ?  Well,  in  surprised  tones,  there  was 
siu-ely  plenty  of  water  in  the  station — ^there  was — and  he 
would  arrange  for  a  train  for  us  to  sleep  in.  The  train  at 
ten  o'clock  next  morning  would  take  us  down  to  the  steamer. 

We  retired  to  that  train.    Only  one  of  the  carriages 


278  A  BROKEN  JOITBNEY 

was  lighted,  and  that  by  general  consent  we  gave  up  to  the 
lady  whose  fear  of  the  Germans  had  settled  our  affairs  for 
us,  and  she  in  return  asked  us  to  share  what  pro\'isions  we 
had  left.  We  pooled  our  stores — I  don't  think  I  had  any- 
thing left,  but  the  others  shared  with  me — and  we  dined,  not 
unsatisfactorily,  off  sardines,  black  bread,  sausages  and 
apples.  The  only  person  left  out  of  the  universal  friendli- 
ness was  the  Yiddish  lady.  Out  of  her  plenty  she  did  not 
offer  to  share. 

"  She  cannot,"  said  the  musician.  "  She  is  saving  for  the 
voyage  to  America.  You  see,  she  can  eat  none  of  the  ship- 
board food."  He  too  came  of  the  same  strict  order  of  Jew, 
and  his  grandparents,  with  whom  he  had  been  staying  in 
Little  Russia,  had  provided  him  with  any  amount  of  sausage 
made  of  kosher  meat,  but  when  he  was  away  from  his  own 
people  he  was  evidently  anjrthing  but  strict  and  ate  what 
pleased  him.  He  shared  with  the  rest  of  us.  Possibly  he 
was  right  about  the  Yiddish  woman,  and  I  suppose  it  did  not 
really  do  us  any  harm  to  go  short  till  next  morning,  but  it 
looked  very  greedy,  and  I  still  wonder  at  the  nerve  cf  a 
woman  who  could  sit  down  and  eat  sausage  and  bread  and 
all  manner  of  such-like  things  while  within  a  stone's-throw 
of  her  people  who  had  helped  her  in  every  way  they  could 
were  cutting  up  apples  and  pears  into  quarters  and  audibly 
wishing  they  had  a  little  more  bread.  The  Oxford  man  and 
musician  had  always  helped  her,  but  she  could  not  find  it  in 
her  heart  to  spare  them  one  crumb.  I  admire  her  nerve. 
In  America  I  doubt  not  she  will  acquire  wealth. 

After  supper  Buchanan  and  I  retired  to  a  dark  carriage, 
wrapped  ourselves  in  my  eiderdown  and  slept  till  with  break 
of  day  two  capable  but  plain  Finnish  damsels  came  in  to 
clean  the  train.  I  think  the  sailors'  ideas  must  have  been 
wrong :  every  Finn  cannot  be  a  magician  else  they  would  not 


THE  WAYS  OF  THE  FINNS  279 

allow  all  their  women  to  be  so  plain.  I  arose  and  dressed 
and  prepared  to  go  out  and  see  if  Raumo  could  produce 
coffee  and  rolls,  but  as  I  was  starting  the  violinist  in  the 
next  compartment  protested. 

"  I  wouldn't.  Guess  you  haven't  got  the  hang  of  these 
Finnish  trains.  It  might  take  it  into  its  head  to  go  on. 
Can't  you  wait  till  we  reach  the  steamer." 

I  gave  the  matter  my  consideration,  and  while  I  was  con- 
sidering the  train  did  take  it  into  its  head  to  go  on  four 
hours  before  its  appointed  time.  On  it  went,  and  at  last 
in  the  fresh  northern  dewy  morning,  with  the  sun  just  newly 
risen,  sending  his  long  low  rays  streaming  across  the  dancing 
waters  of  the  bay,  we  steamed  up  to  the  wharf,  and  there 
lay  the  white  ships  that  were  bound  for  Sweden,  the  other 
side  of  the  Baltic. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

CAPTURED   BY  GERMANS 

But  we  couldn't  get  on  the  steamer  at  once.    For  some  reason 

or  other  there  were  Customs   delays   and  everything  we 

possessed  had  to  be  examined  before  we  were  allowed  to 

leave  the  country,  but — and  we  hailed  them  with  delight — 

under  the  goods  sheds  were  set  out  little  tables  where  we 

could  buy  coffee  and  rolls  and  butter  and  eggs.     It  was 

autumn  now,  and  for  all  the  sunshine  here  in  such  high 

latitudes  there  was  a  nip  in  the  air  and  the  hot  coffee  was 

welcome.     We  met,  too,  our  friend  of  the  night  before,  the 

Scots  Finn,  but  the  glamour  had  departed  from  him  and  we 

paid  no  attention  to  his  suggestion  that  the  Goathied,  the 

Swedish  steamer,  was  very  much  smaller  than  the  Uleaborg 

and  that  there  was  a  wind  getting  up  and  we  would  all  be 

deadly  sick.    We  said  we  preferred  being  sick  to  being 

captured  by  the  Germans.    And  he  laughed  at  us.    There 

was  no  need  to  fear  the  Germans  in  the  Baltic  so  far  north. 

It  was  midday  before  we  were  allowed  on  board  the  little 

white  ship,  but  still  she  lingered.     I  was  weary,  weary,  even 

the  waiting  seemed  a  weariness  so  anxious  was  I  to  end  my 

long  journeying  and  get  home.     And  then  suddenly  I  felt 

very  near  it,  for  my  ears  were  greeted  by  the  good  broad 

Doric  of  Scotland,  and  there  came  trooping  on  board  five 

and  fifty  men,  part  of  the  crews  of  four  English  ships  that 

had  been  caught  by  the  tide  of  war  and  laid  up  at  Petrograd 

and  Kronstadt.     An  opportunity  had  been  found  and  they 

were  going  back  by  way  of  Sweden,  leaving  their  ships 

280 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  281 

behind  till  after  the  war.  We  did  not  think  the  war  could 
last  very  long  on  board  that  steamer. 

The  Scotsmen  had  evidently  been  expected,  for  on  the 
deck  in  the  bows  of  the  little  steamer — she  was  only  about 
three  hundred  tons — ^were  laid  long  tables  spread  with  ample 
supplies  of  boiled  sausages,  suet  pudding  and  potatoes, 
and  very  appetising  it  looked,  though  in  all  my  wanderings 
I  had  never  met  boiled  sausages  before.  Down  to  the  feast 
sat  the  sailor-men,  and  our  Yiddish  friend  voiced  aloud  my 
feelings. 

"  Anglisky,"  said  she  unexpectedly,  "  nice  Anglisky  boys. 
Guten  appetite,  nice  Anglisky  boys  !  " 

They  were  very  cheery,  poor  boys,  and  though  they  were 
not  accustomed  to  her  sort  in  Leith,  they  received  her 
remarks  ^nth  appreciative  grins. 

As  we  started  the  captain  came  down  upon  me. 

"  Who  does  that  dog  belong  to  ? "  he  asked  angrily. 
Everyone  on  board  spoke  English.  And  before  I  could 
answer — I  wasn't  particularly  anxious  to  answer — he  added  : 
"  He  can't  be  landed  in  Sweden." 

My  heart  sank.  What  would  they  do  to  my  poor  little 
dog  ?  I  was  determined  they  shouldn't  harm  him  unless 
they  harmed  me  first,  and  if  he  had  to  go  back  to  Russia — 
well,  I  would  go  too ;  but  the  thought  of  going  back  made 
me  very  miserable,  and  I  made  solemn  vows  to  myself  that 
if  I  by  some  miracle  got  through  safely,  never,  never  again 
would  I  travel  with  a  dog. 

And  while  I  was  thinking  about  it  there  came  along  a 
junior  officer,  mate,  purser,  he  might  have  been  the  cook  for 
all  I  know,  and  he  said :  "  If  you  have  bought  this  dog  in 
Finland,  or  even  on  board  the  steamer,  he  can  land." 

It  was  light  in  darkness,  and  I  do  not  mind  stating  that 
where  my  dog  is  concerned  I  have  absolutely  no  morals  if  it 


282  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

is  to  save  him  from  pain.    He  had  been  my  close  companion 
for  over  a  year  and  I  knew  he  was  perfectly  healthy. 

"  I  will  give  you  a  good  price  for  him,"  said  I.     "  He  is 
a  pretty  little  dog." 

"  Wait,"  he  said,  "  wait.  By  and  by  I  see." 
Just  as  we  got  out  of  the  bay  the  captain  announced  that 
he  was  not  going  to  Stockholm  at  all,  but  to  Gefle,  farther 
north.  Why,  he  did  not  know.  Such  were  his  orders.  In 
ordinary  times  to  find  yourself  being  landed  at  Liverpool, 
say,  when  you  had  booked  for  London  might  be  upsetting, 
but  in  war  time  it  is  all  in  the  day's  work,  and  sailors  and 
crowded  passengers  only  laughed. 

"  Let's  awa',"  said  the  sailors.  "  Let's  awa'." 
The  air  was  clear  and  clean,  clean  as  if  every  speck  of 
dust  had  been  washed  away  by  the  rain  of  the  preceding 
night ;  the  little  islands  at  the  mouth  of  the  bay  stood  out 
green  and  fresh  in  the  blue  sea,  but  the  head  wind  broke  it 
up  into  little  waves,  and  the  ship  was  empty  of  cargo  and 
tossed  about  like  a  cork.  The  blue  sea  and  snow-white 
clouds,  the  sunlight  on  the  dancing  waves  mattered  not  to 
us;  all  we  wanted,  those  of  us  who  were  not  in  favour  of 
drowning  at  once  and  so  ending  our  misery,  was  to  land  in 
Sweden.  Buchanan  sat  up  looking  at  me  reproachfully, 
then  he  too  subsided  and  was  violently  sick,  and  I  watched 
the  passengers  go  one  by  one  below  to  hide  their  misery, 
even  those  who  had  vowed  they  never  were  sea-sick.  I 
stayed  on  deck  because  I  felt  I  was  happier  there  in  the  fresh 
air,  and  so  I  watched  the  sunset.  It  was  a  gorgeous  sunset ; 
the  clouds  piled  themselves  one  upon  the  other  and  the  red 
sun  stained  them  deepest  crimson.  It  was  so  striking  that 
I  forgot  my  sea-sick  qualms. 

And  then  suddenly  I  became  aware  there  were  more  ships 
upon  the  sea  than  ours,  one  in  particular,  a  black,  low-lying 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  288 

craft,  was  steaming  all  round  us,  sending  out  defiant  hoots. 
There  were  three  other  ships  farther  off,  and  I  went  to  the 
rail  to  look  over  the  darkening  sea. 

Between  us  and  the  sunset  was  the  low-lying  craft,  so  close 
I  could  see  the  gaiters  of  a  man  in  uniform  who  stood  on  a 
platform  a  little  higher  than  his  fellows  ;  the  little  decks  were 
crowded  with  men  and  a  long  gun  was  pointed  at  us.  It 
was  all  black,  clean-cut,  silhouetted  against  the  crimson 
sunset. 

We  were  slowed  down,  barely  moving,  the  waves  slop- 
slopped  against  our  sides,  and  the  passengers  came  scram- 
bling up. 

"  Germans  !  Yarmans  !  "  they  cried,  and  from  the 
torpedo  boat  came  a  voice  through  a  megaphone. 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  all  those  fine  young  men  on 
board  ?  "  it  asked  in  excellent  English,  the  language  of  the 
sea. 

The  black  torpedo  boat  was  lying  up  against  us. 

Sea-sickness  was  forgotten,  and  the  violinist  came  to  me. 

"  They  are  going  to  take  the  young  men,"  he  said,  and  he 
was  sorry  and  yet  pleased,  because  all  the  time  he  had  been 
full  of  the  might  of  the  Germans. 

I  thought  of  the  Oxford  man  in  the  very  prime  of  his 
manhood. 

"  Have  you  told  him  ?  " 

"  Guess  I  didn't  dare,"  said  he. 

"  Well,  I  think  you'd  better,  or  I'll  go  myself.  They  are 
going  to  search  the  ship  and  he  won't  like  being  taken 
unawares." 

So  he  went  down,  and  presently  they  came  up  together. 
The  Oxford  man  had  been  very  sea-sick  and  he  thought  all 
the  row  was  caused  by  the  ship  having  struck  a  mine,  and 
he  felt  so  ill  that  if  things  were  to  end  that  way  he  was 


284  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

accepting  it  calmly,  but  being  captured  by  G^ermans  was  a 
different  matter.  He  was  the  only  Englishman  in  the  first 
class,  and  when  we  heard  they  were  coming  for  the  young 
men  we  felt  sure  he  would  have  to  go. 

Leaning  over  the  rail  of  the  Goathied,  we  could  look  down 
upon  the  black  decks  of  the  torpedo  boat,  blacker  than  ever 
now  in  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  for  the  sun  sank  and  the 
darkness  was  coming  quickly.  A  rope  ladder  was  flung 
over  and  up  came  a  couple  of  German  officers.  They  spoke 
perfect  English,  and  they  talked  English  all  the  time.  They 
went  below,  demanded  the  passenger  list  and  studied  it 
carefully. 

"  We  must  take  those  Englishmen,"  said  the  leader,  and 
then  he  went  through  every  cabin  to  see  that  none  was 
concealed. 

The  captain  made  remonstrance,  as  much  remonstrance 
as  an  unarmed  man  can  make  with  three  cruisers  looking 
on  and  a  torpedo  boat  close  alongside. 

"It  is  war,"  said  the  German  curtly,  and  in  the  dusk  he 
ranged  the  sailor-men  along  the  decks,  all  fifty-five  of  them, 
and  picked  out  those  between  the  ages  of  nineteen  and  forty. 
Indeed  one  luckless  lad  of  seventeen  was  taken,  but  he  was 
a  strapping  fellow  and  they  said  if  he  was  not  twenty-one 
he  looked  it. 

It  was  tragic.  Of  course  there  must  have  been  treachery 
at  work  or  how  should  the  German  squadron  have  known 
that  the  Englishmen  were  crossing  at  this  very  hour  ?  But  a 
few  moments  before  they  had  been  counting  on  getting  home 
and  now  they  were  bound  for  a  German  prison  !  In  the 
gathering  darkness  they  stood  on  the  decks,  and  the  short, 
choppy  sea  beat  the  iron  torpedo  boat  against  the  ship's 
side,  and  the  captain  in  the  light  from  a  lantern  hung  against 
the  little  house  looked  the  picture  of  despair. 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  285 

"  She  caiinot  stand  it !  She  cannot  stand  it  much 
longer !  " 

Crash!     Crash!     Crash! 

"  She  cannot  stand  it !  She  was  never  built  for  it !  And 
she  is  old  now  !  " 

But  the  German  paid  no  attention.  Tlie  possible  destruc- 
tion of  a  passenger  ship  was  as  nothing  weighed  in  the 
balance  with  the  acquirement  of  six  and  thirty  fighting  men. 

They  were  so  quiet.  They  handed  letters  and  small 
bundles  and  sometunes  some  of  their  pay  to  their  comrades 
or  to  the  passengers  looking  on  and  they  dropped  do\Mi 
that  ladder.  No  one  but  a  sailor  could  have  gone  doAvn, 
for  the  ships  heaved  up  and  doiMi,  and  sometimes  they  were 
bumping  and  sometimes  there  was  a  wide  belt  of  heaving 
dark  water  between  them,  bridged  only  by  that  frail  ladder. 
One  by  one  they  went,  landing  on  the  hostile  deck,  and  were 
greeted  with  what  were  manifestly  jeers  at  their  misfortune. 
The  getting  down  was  difficult  and  more  than  once  a  bundle 
was  dropped  into  the  sea  and  there  went  up  a  sigh  that  was 
like  a  wail,  for  the  passengers  looking  on  thought  the  man  was 
gone,  and  I  do  not  think  there  would  have  been  any  hope  for 
him  between  the  ships. 

Darker  and  darker  it  grew.  On  the  Goathied  there  were 
the  lighted  decks,  but  below  on  the  torpedo  boat  the  men 
were  dim  figures,  German  and  English  undiscernible  in  the 
gloom.  On  the  horizon  loomed  the  sombre  bulk  of  the 
ci-uisers,  each  with  a  bright  light  aloft,  and  all  around  was 
the  heaving  sea,  the  white  tops  of  the  choppy  waves  showing 
sinister  against  the  darker  hollows. 

"  Anglisky  boys  !  Anglisky  boys  !  "  wailed  the  Yiddish 
woman,  and  her  voice  cut  into  the  waiting  silence.  It  was 
their  dirge,  the  dirge  for  the  long,  long  months  of  imprison- 
ment that  lay  before  them.     And  we  were  hoping  for  a  short 


286  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

war  !  I  could  hear  the  Oxford  man  drawing  a  long  breath 
occasionally,  steeling  himself  against  the  moment  when  his 
turn  would  come. 

It  never  came.  Why,  I  do  not  know.  Perhaps  they  did 
not  realise  bis  nationality,  for  being  a  Scotsman  he  had 
entered  himself  as  "  British  "  on  the  passenger  list,  and 
"  British  "  was  not  such  a  well-known  word  as  the  sons  of 
Britain  gathering  from  all  corners  of  the  earth  to  fight  the 
common  foe  have  made  it  to-day. 

"  Puir  chappies !  Puir  chappies !  A'm  losin'  guid 
comrades,"  sighed  an  elderly  man  leaning  over  the  side 
and  shouting  a  farewell  to  "  Andra'." 

I  murmured  something  about  "  after  the  war,"  but  he 
cut  me  short  sternly.  The  general  opinion  was  that  they 
would  be  put  to  stoke  German  warships  and  as  the  British 
were  sure  to  beat  them  they  would  go  down  and  be  in- 
gloriously  lost.  The  thought  must  have  been  a  bitter  one  to 
the  men  on  that  torpedo  boat.    And  they  took  it  like  heroes. 

The  last  man  was  gone,  and  as  the  torpedo  boat  drew  away 
a  sort  of  moan  went  up  from  the  bereft  passenger  ship  and 
we  went  on  our  way,  the  captain  relieved  that  wc  were  fi'ee 
before  a  hole  had  been  knocked  in  our  side. 

He  was  so  thankful  that  no  worse  thing  had  befallen  him 
that  he  became  quite  communicative. 

"  They  are  gone  to  take  the  Uleahorg"  he  said,  "  and  they 
will  blow  her  up  and  before  to-morrow  morning  Raumo 
will  be  in  flames  !  " 

In  those  days  Sweden  had  great  faith  in  the  might  of 
Germany.  I  hope  that  faith  is  getting  a  little  shaken  at  last. 
Still  that  captain  declared  his  intention  of  warning  all  the 
ships  he  could.  There  were  two  Finnish  ships  of  which  he 
knew  that  he  said  were  coming  out  of  Stockholm  that  night 
and  he  was  going  to  look  for  them  and  warn  them. 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  287 

And  so  the  night  was  alive  with  brilliant  electric  light 
signals  and  wild  hootings  from  the  steam  siren,  and  he  found 
them  at  last,  all  honour  to  him  for  a  kindly  sailor-man, 
and  the  Finnish  ships  were  warned  and  went  back  to  Sweden. 

But  no  matter  how  sorry  one  is  for  the  sufferings  of  others, 
the  feeling  does  not  in  any  way  tend  to  lessen  one's  own 
private  woes.  Rather  are  they  deepened  because  sympathy 
and  help  is  not  so  easily  come  by  when  men's  thoughts  are 
occupied  by  more  —  to  them  more  —  important  matters. 
And  so  I  could  not  go  to  sleep  because  of  my  anxiety  about 
my  little  dog.  Only  for  the  moment  did  the  taking  of  the 
men  and  my  pity  for  them  drive  the  thought  of  his  pre- 
dicament from  my  mind. 

We  were  nearing  Sweden,  every  moment  was  bringing  us 
closer,  and  as  yet  I  had  made  no  arrangements  for  his  safety. 
He  lay  curled  up  on  the  seat,  liiding  his  little  snub  nose  and 
his  little  white  paws  mth  his  bushy  tail,  for  the  autumn  night 
was  chilly,  and  I  lay  fearing  a  prison  for  him  too,  when  he 
would  think  his  mistress  whom  he  had  trusted  had  failed  him. 
All  the  crew  were  so  excited  over  the  kidnapping  of  the  men 
that  my  meditated  nefarious  transaction  was  thrust  into  the 
background.  It  was  hopeless  to  think  that  any  one  of  them 
would  give  ear  to  the  woes  of  a  little  dog,  so  at  last,  very 
reluctantly,  I  gave  him,  much  to  his  surprise,  a  sulphonal 
tablet.  I  dozed  a  little  and  when  by  my  watch  it  was  four 
o'clock  Buchanan  was  as  lively  as  a  cricket.  Sulphonal 
did  not  seem  to  have  affected  him  in  any  way.  I  gave  liim 
another,  and  he  said  it  was  extremely  nasty  and  he  was 
surprised  at  my  conduct,  but  otherwise  it  made  no  difference 
to  him. 

In  the  grey  of  the  early  morning  we  drew  up  to  the  wharf 
and  were  told  to  get  all  our  belongings  on  to  the  lower  deck 
for  the  Customs  to  examine  them,  and  Buchanan  was  as 


288  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

cheerful  and  as  wide  awake  as  if  he  had  not  swallowed  two 
sulphonal  tablets.  With  a  sinking  heart  I  gave  him  another, 
put  him  in  his  basket  and,  carrying  it  down  to  the  appointed 
place,  threw  a  rug  over  it  and  piled  my  two  suit -cases  on  top 
of  it.  How  thankful  I  was  there  was  such  a  noisy  crowd, 
going  over  and  over  again  in  many  tongues  the  events  of  the 
night.  They  wi-angled  too  about  their  luggage  and  about 
their  places,  and  above  all  their  din  I  could  hear  poor  little 
James  Buchanan  whining  and  whimpering  and  asking  why 
his  mistress  was  treating  him  so  badly. 

Then  came  the  Customs  officer  and  my  heart  stood  still. 
He  poked  an  investigatory  hand  into  my  suit -case  and 
asked  me — I  understood  him  quite  well — to  show  him  what 
was  underneath.  I  could  hear  Buchanan  if  he  could  not, 
and  I  pretended  that  I  thought  he  wanted  to  know  what 
was  at  the  bottom  of  my  suit -case  and  I  turned  ov^er  the 
things  again  and  again.  He  grew  impatient,  but  luckily 
so  did  all  the  people  round,  and  as  a  woman  dragged  him 
away  by  force  to  look  at  her  things  so  that  she  could  get 
them  ashore  I  noticed  with  immense  relief  that  the  sailors 
were  beginning  to  take  the  things  to  the  wharf.  Luckily 
I  had  taken  care  the  night  before  to  get  some  Swedish  money 
— I  was  taking  no  chances — and  a  little  palm  oil  made  that 
sailor  prompt  to  attend  to  my  wants.  Blessings  on  the 
confusion  that  reigned  around !  Two  minutes  later  on 
Swedish  soil  I  was  piling  my  gear  on  a  little  hand-cart 
with  a  lot  of  luggage  belonging  to  the  people  with  whom  I 
had  come  across  Finland  and  it  was  bound  to  the  railway 
station. 

"  You  have  left  your  umbrella,"  cried  the  violinist. 
"  I  don't  care,"  said  I.     I  had  lost  my  only  remaining  hat 
for  that  matter,  goodness  knows  what   had  become  of  it, 
but  I  was  not  going  to  put  myself  within  range  of  those 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  289 

Customs  men  again.  What  did  I  care  about  appearances  ! 
I  had  passed  the  very  worst  milestone  on  my  journey  when 
I  got  James  Buchanan  into  Sweden ;  I  had  awakened  from 
the  nightmare  that  had  haunted  me  ever  since  I  had  taken 
my  ticket  in  Petrograd,  and  I  breathed  freely. 

At  the  railway  station  we  left  our  luggage,  but  I  got 
Buchanan's  basket,  and  we  all  went  across  the  road  to  a 
restaurant  just  waking  to  business,  for  we  badly  wanted 
breakfast.  I  loved  those  passengers.  I  shall  always  think 
of  them  with  gratitude.  They  were  all  so  kind  and  sjrm- 
pathetic  and  the  restaurant  folks,  who  were  full  of  the  seizing 
of  the  Englishmen  on  a  Swedish  ship — so  are  joys  and  sorrows 
mingled — must  have  thought  we  were  a  little  mad  when  we 
all  stood  round  and,  before  ordering  breakfast,  opened  a 
basket  and  let  out  a  pretty  little  black  and  white  dog. 

And  then  I'm  sorry  to  say  we  laughed,  even  I  laughed, 
laughed  with  relief,  though  I  there  and  then  took  a  vow  never 
again  to  drug  a  dog,  for  poor  little  James  Buchanan  was 
drunk.  He  wobbled  as  he  walked,  and  he  could  not  make 
up  his  mind  to  lie  down  like  a  sensible  dog  and  sleep  if  off ; 
he  was  conversational  and  silly  and  had  to  be  restrained. 
Poor  little  James  Buchanan  !  But  he  was  a  Swedish  dog, 
and  I  ate  my  breakfast  %vith  appetite,  and  we  all  speculated 
as  to  what  had  become  of  the  Scots  Finn  who  had  failed  me. 

Gefle  reminded  me  of  Hans  Andersen  even  more  than 
Finland  had  done.  It  had  neat  streets  and  neat  houses 
and  neat  trees  and  neat  and  fair-haired  women,  and  Gefle 
was  seething  with  excitement  because  the  Goaihied  had  been 
stopped.  It  was  early  days  then,  and  Sweden  had  not 
become  accustomed  to  the  filibustering  ways  of  the  German, 
so  every  poster  had  the  tale  writ  large  upon  it,  in  every  place 
they  were  talking  about  it,  and  we,  the  passengers  who 
walked  about  the  streets,  were  the  observed  of  all  observers. 

T 


290  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

I  was  nearing  the  end  of  my  long  journey,  very  near  now, 
and  it  did  not  seem  to  me  to  matter  much  what  I  did.  We 
were  all — ^the  new  friends  I  had  made  on  the  way  from 
Petrograd — pretty  untidy  and  travel-stained,  and  if  I  wore 
a  lace  veil  on  my  hair,  the  violinist  had  a  huge  rent  in  his 
shoe,  and,  having  no  money  to  buy  more,  he  went  into  a 
shoe-shop  and  had  it  mended.  I,  with  Buchanan  a  little 
recovered,  sat  beside  him  while  it  was  done. 

And  in  the  afternoon  we  went  by  train  through  the  neat 
and  tidy  country,  Selma  Lagerlof's  country,  to  Stockholm. 
I  felt  as  if  I  were  resting,  rested,  because  I  was  anxious  no 
longer  about  Buchanan,  who  slumbered  peacefully  on  my 
knee ;  and  if  anybody  thinks  I  am  making  an  absurd  fuss 
about  a  little  dog,  let  them  remember  he  had  been  my 
faithful  companion  and  friend  in  far  corners  of  the  earth 
when  there  were  none  but  alien  faces  around  me,  and  had 
stood  many  a  time  between  me  and  utter  loneliness  and 
depression. 

We  discussed  these  sturdy  Swedes.  The  Chicago  woman's 
daughter,  with  the  pertness  and  aptness  of  the  American 
flapper,  summed  them  up  quickly. 

"  The  men  are  handsome,"  she  said,  looking  round,  "  but 
the  women — ^well,  the  women  lack  something — I  call  them 
tame." 

And  I  knew  she  had  hit  them  off  to  a  "  T."  After  that 
I  never  looked  at  a  neat  and  tidy  Swedish  woman  with  her 
hair,  that  was  fair  without  that  touch  of  red  that  makes  for 
gold — ogives  life — coiled  at  the  back  of  her  head  and  her  mild 
eyes  looking  out  placidly  on  the  world  around  her  without 
feeling  that  I  too  call  her  tame. 

Stockholm  for  the  most  of  us  was  the  parting  of  the  ways. 
The  American  consul  took  charge  of  the  people  who  had 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  291 

come  across  Finland  with  us  and  the  Oxford  man  and  I 
alone  went  to  the  Continental  Hotel,  which,  I  believe,  is  the 
best  hotel  in  that  city.  We  had  an  evening  meal  together 
in  a  room  that  reminded  me  very  much  of  the  sort  of  places 
we  used  to  call  coffee  palaces  in  Melbourne  when  I  was  a 
girl,  and  I  met  here  again  for  the  first  time  for  many  a  long 
day  tea  served  in  cups  with  milk  and  cream.  It  was  excellent, 
and  I  felt  I  was  indeed  nearing  home.  Things  were  getting 
commonplace  and  the  adventure  was  going  out  of  life.  But 
I  was  tired  and  I  didn't  want  adventure  any  more.  There 
comes  a  time  when  we  have  a  surfeit  of  it. 

I  remember  my  sister  once  wTiting  from  her  home  some- 
where in  the  Malay  jungle  that  her  husband  was  away  and 
it  was  awkward  because  every  night  a  leopard  came  and 
took  up  his  position  under  the  house,  and  though  she  believed 
he  was  only  after  the  fowls  she  didn't  like  it  because  of  the 
children.  If  ever  she  complains  that  she  hasn't  had  enough 
adventure  in  her  life  I  remind  her  of  that  and  she  says  that 
is  not  the  sort  of  adventure  she  has  craved.  That  is  always 
the  way.  The  adventure  is  not  always  in  the  form  we 
want.  I  seemed  to  have  had  plenty,  but  I  was  weary.  I 
wanted  to  sit  in  a  comfortable  English  garden  in  the  autumn 
sunshine  and  forget  that  such  things  as  trains  and  ships — 
perish  the  thought  of  a  mule  litter — existed.  I  counted  the 
hours.  It  couldn't  be  long  now.  We  came  down  into  the  hall 
to  find  that  I  had  been  entered  on  the  board  containing  the 
names  of  the  hotel  guests  as  the  Oxford  man's  wife.  Poor 
young  man  !  It  was  a  little  rough  on  him,  for  I  hadn't 
even  a  hat,  and  I  felt  I  looked  dilapidated. 

I  was  too.  That  night  in  the  sleeper  crossing  to  Christiania 
the  woman  who  had  the  bottom  berth  spoke  excellent 
English.  She  was  going  to  some  baths  and  she  gave  some 
advice. 


292  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

"  You  axe  very  ill,  Madame,"  said  she,  "  very  ill." 

I  said  no,  I  was  only  a  little  tired. 

"  I  think,"  she  went  on,  *<  you  are  very  ill,  and  if  you  are 
wise  when  you  get  to  Christiania  you  will  go  to  the  Hotel 
Victoria  and  go  to  bed." 

I  was  horrified.  Because  I  felt  I  must  go  to  England  as 
quickly  as  possible,  and  I  said  so. 

"  The  train  does  not  go  to  Bergen  till  night,"  said  she. 
"  Stay  in  bed  all  day."  And  then  as  we  crossed  the  border 
a  Customs  officer  came  into  the  carriage.  Now  I  could 
easily  have  hidden  Buchanan,  but  I  thought  as  a  Swedish 
dog  all  his  troubles  were  over,  and  he  sat  up  there  looking 
pertly  at  the  uniformed  man  and  saying  "  What  are  you 
doing  here  ?  " 

"  Have  you  got  a  certificate  of  health  for  that  dog  ?  " 
asked  the  man  sternly. 

I  said  "  No,"  remembering  how  very  carefully  I  had  kept 
him  out  of  the  way  of  anybody  likely  to  be  interested  in 
his  health. 

"  Then,"  said  he,  "  you  must  telegraph  to  the  police  at 
Christiania.  They  will  meet  you  and  take  him  to  a  veterinary 
surgeon." 

"  And  after  ?  "  I  asked,  trembling,  my  Swedish  friend 
translating. 

"  If  his  health  is  good  they  give  him  back  to  you.  You 
take  a  room  at  a  hotel  and  if  his  health  is  good  he  will  be 
allowed  to  skip  about  the  streets." 

I  felt  pretty  sure  he  would  be  allowed  to  skip  about  the 
streets  and  I  took  a  room  at  the  Victoria,  the  Oxford  man 
kindly  seeing  us  through — ^they  put  us  down  as  Mr  and  Mrs 
Gaunt  here — and  James  Buchanan,  who  had  been  taken 
possession  of  by  the  police  at  the  station,  came  back  to  me, 
accompanied  by  a  Norwegian  policeman  who  demanded  five 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  293 

shiUings  and  gave  me  a  certificate  that  he  was  a  perfectly 
healthy  little  dog. 

I  want  to  go  back  to  Norway  when  I  am  not  tired  and  fed 
up  wdth  travelling,  for  Chi'istiania  struck  me  as  a  dear  little 
home-like  town  that  one  could  love  ;  and  the  railway  journey 
across  the  Dovrefield  and  even  the  breakfast  baskets  that 
came  in  in  the  early  morning  were  things  to  be  remembered. 
I  saw  snow  up  in  those  mountains,  whether  the  first  snow 
of  the  coming  winter  or  snow  left  over  from  the  winter 
before,  I  do  not  know,  but  the  views  were  lovely,  and  I  asked 
myself  why  I  went  wandering  in  far-away  places  when  there 
were  places  like  this  so  close  at  home  and  so  easily  reached. 
So  near  home.  We  were  so  near  home.  I  could  think  of 
nothing  else.  I  told  Buchanan  about  it  and  he  licked  my 
hand  sympathetically  and  told  me  always  to  remember  that 
wherever  I  was  was  good  enough  for  him.  And  then  we 
arrived  at  Bergen,  a  little  wooden  city  set  at  the  head 
of  a  fiord  among  the  hills,  and  we  went  on  board  the 
Haakon  VII.,  bound  for  Newcastle-on-Tyne. 

And  then  the  most  memorable  thing  happened,  the  most 
memorable  thing  in  what  for  me  was  a  wondrous  journey. 
All  across  the  Old  World  we  had  come,  almost  from  the  very 
farthest  corner  of  the  Old  World,  a  wonderful  journey  i.  :; 
to  be  lightly  undertaken  nor  soon  forgotten.  And  yet  as  I 
went  on  board  that  ship  I  felt  what  a  very  little  thing  it  was. 
I  have  been  feeling  it  ever  since.  A  Norwegian  who  spoke 
good  English  was  there,  going  back  to  London,  and,  talking 
to  another  man,  he  mentioned  in  a  casual  manner  some- 
thing about  the  English  contingent  that  had  landed  on  the 
Continent. 

It  startled  me.  Not  in  my  lifetime,  nor  in  the  lifetime  of 
my  father,  indeed  I  think  my  grandfathers  must  have  been 
very  little  boys  when  the  last  English  troops  landed  in  France. 


294  A  BROKEN  JOURNEY 

*'  English  troops  !  "  I  cried  in  astonishment. 

The  Norwegian  turned  to  me,  smiUng. 

"  Yes,"  he  said.  "  But  of  course  they  are  only  evidence 
of  good  will.     Their  use  is  negligible  !  " 

And  I  agreed.  I  actually  agreed.  Britain's  role,  it  seemed 
to  me,  was  on  the  sea  ! 

And  in  four  years  I  have  seen  Britain  grow  into  a  mighty 
military  power.  I  have  seen  the  men  of  my  own  people 
come  crowding  across  the  ocean  to  help  the  Motherland ; 
I  have  seen  my  sister's  young  son  pleased  to  be  a  soldier 
in  that  army,  just  one  of  the  proud  and  humble  crowd  that 
go  to  uphold  Britain's  might.  And  all  this  has  groAvn  since 
I  stood  there  at  the  head  of  the  Norwegian  fiord  with  the 
western  sun  sparkling  on  the  little  wavelets  and  heard  a 
friendly  foreigner  talk  about  the  little  army  that  was 
"  negligible." 

I  was  tired.  I  envied  those  who  could  work  and  exert 
themselves,  but  I  could  do  nothing.  If  the  future  of  the 
nation  had  depended  on  me  I  could  have  done  nothing.  I 
was  coming  back  to  strenuous  times  and  I  longed  for  rest. 
I  wanted  a  house  of  my  own  ;  I  wanted  a  seat  in  the  garden  ; 
I  wanted  to  see  the  flowers  grow,  to  listen  to  the  birds 
singing  in  the  trees.  All  that  our  men  are  fighting  for  to 
keep  sacred  and  safe,  I  longed  for. 

And  I  have  had  it,  thanks  to  those  fighting  men  who  have 
sacrificed  themselves  for  me,  I  have  had  it.  It  is  good  to 
sit  in  the  garden  where  the  faithful  little  friend  I  shall  never 
forget  has  his  last  resting-place ;  it  is  good  to  see  the  roses 
grow,  to  listen  to  the  lark  and  the  cuckoo  and  the  thrush ; 
but  there  is  something  in  our  race  that  cannot  keep  still  for 
long,  the  something,  I  suppose,  that  sent  my  grandfather 
to  the  sea,  my  father  to  Australia,  and  scattered  his  sons  and 
daughters  all  over  the  world.     I  had  a  letter  from  a  soldier 


CAPTURED  BY  GERMANS  295 

brother  the  other  day.    The  war  holds  him,  of  course,  but 
nevertheless  he  wrote,  quoting  : 

"  Salt  with  desire  of  travel 

Are  my  lips  ;  and  the  wind's  wild  singing 
Lifts  my  heart  to  the  ocean 
And  the  sight  of  the  great  ships  swinging." 

And  my  heart  echoed :  "  And  I  too  I    And  I  too  !  " 


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